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5- English Traits. 6.
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12
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NATURE
ADDRESSES,
AND LECTURES
BY
RALPH
WALDO
EMERSON
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON,
MIFFLIN AND
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<Cfe tttoersftr
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COPYRIGHT, 1883,
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AU
rights
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<
R
CONTENTS.
1
.1
/
-
PAGE
INTRODUCTION . .
11
NATURE
.15
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. An Oration before the Phi
Beta
Kappa Society,
at
Cambridge, August
81,
1837
. 69
AN ADDRESS to the Senior Class in
Divinity College,
Cambridge, July
15,
1838 . . . .
^ 99_
LITERARY ETHICS. An Address to the
Literary
Societies
in Dartmouth
College, July
24,
1838 . .
.127
THE METHOD OF NATURE. An Address to the
Society
of the
Adelphi,
in Waterville
College,
Me.,
August
11,
1841
155
MAN THE REFORMER. A Lecture read before the
Mechanics
Apprentices Library
Association, Boston,
January
25,
1841
183
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. Read in the Masonic
Temple,
Boston,
December
2,
1841
209
THE CONSERVATIVE. A Lecture read in the Masonic
Temple,
Boston,
December
9,
1841 . . . .
237
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM A Lecture read in the
Masonic
Temple,
Boston,
January,
1842 . . . 263
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. A Lecture read to the
Mercantile
Library
Association,
in
Boston,
February
7,
1844 289
NATURE, ADDRESSES,
AND
LECTURES.
NATURE.
A SUBTLE chain of countless
rings
The next unto the farthest
hrings
;
The
eye
reads omens where it
goes,
And
speaks
all
languages
the rose
;
And,
striving
to be
man,
the worm
Mounts
through
all the
spires
of form.
INTEODUCTION.
OUR
age
is
retrospective.
It builds the
sepulchres
of
the fathers. It -writes
biographies,
histories,
and criti
cism. The
foregoing generations
beheld God and nature
face to face
; we,
through
their
eyes. Why
should not
we also
enjoy
an
original
relation to the universe ?
Why
should not we have a
poetry
and
philosophy
of
insight,
and not of
tradition,
and a
religion by
revelation to
us,
and not the
history
of theirs ? Embosomed for a season
in
nature,
whose floods of life stream around and
through
us,
and invite us
by
the
powers they supply,
to action
proportioned
to
nature,
why
should we
grope among
the
dry
bones of the
past,
or
put
the
living generation
into
masquerade
out of its faded wardrobe ? The sun shines
to-day
also. There is more wool and flax in the fields.
There are new
lands,
new
men,
new
thoughts.
Let us
demand our own works and laws and
worship.
Undoubtedly
we have no
questions
to ask which are
unanswerable. We must trust the
perfection
of the cre
ation so
far,
as to believe that whatever
curiosity
the
order of
things
has awakened in our
minds,
the order of
things
can
satisfy. Every
man s condition is a solution
12
INTRODUCTION.
in
hieroglyphic
to those
inquiries
he would
put.
He acts
it as
life,
before he
apprehends
it as truth. In like man
ner,
nature is
already,
in its forms and
tendencies,
de
scribing
its own
design.
Let us
interrogate
the
great
apparition,
that shines so
peacefully
around us. Let us
inquire,
to what end is nature ?
All science has one
aim,
namely,
to find a
theory
of
nature. We have theories of races and of
functions,
but
scarcely yet
a remote
approach
to an idea of
creation.
We are now so far from the road to
truth,
that
religious
teachers
dispute
and hate each
other,
and
speculative
men are esteemed unsound and frivolous. But to a
sound
judgment,
the most abstract truth is the most
practical.
Whenever a true
theory appears,
it will be its
own evidence. Its test
is,
that it will
explain
all
phe
nomena. Now
many
are
thought
not
only unexplained
"but
inexplicable;
as
language, sleep,
madness, dreams,
beasts,
sex.
Philosophically
considered,
the universe is
composed
of Nature and the Soul.
Strictly speaking, therefore,
all that is
separate
from
us,
all which
Philosophy
distin
guishes
as the NOT
ME,
that
is,
both nature and
art,
all
other men and
my
own
body,
must be
ranked under this
name,
NATURE. In
enumerating
the values of nature
and
casting up
their
sum,
I shall use the word in both
senses,
in its common and in its
philosophical import.
In
inquiries
so
general
as our
present
one,
the inaccu
racy
is not material
;
no confusion of
thought
need occur.
Nature,
in the common
sense,
refers to essences un
changed by
man
;
space,
the
air,
the
river,
the leaf. Art
is
applied
to the mixture of his will with the same
things,
INTRODUCTION. 13
as in a
house,
a
canal,
a
statue,
a
picture.
But his
oper
ations taken
together
are so
insignificant,
a little
chip
ping, baking, patching,
and
washing,
that in an
impres
sion so
grand
as that of the world on the human
mind,
they
do not
vary
the result.
NATURE.
CHAPTER I.
To
go
into
solitude,
a man needs to retire as much
from his chamber as from
society.
I am not
solitary
whilst I read and
write,
though nobody
is with me. But
if a man would be
alone,
let him look at the stars. The
rays
that come from those
heavenly
worlds will
separate
between
him and what he touches. One
might
think the ^V
atmosphere
was made
transparent
with this
design,
to
give
man,
in the
heavenly
bodies,
the
perpetual
presence^)
of the sublime. Seen in the streets of
cities,
how
great
they
are! If the stars should
appear
one
night
thousand
years,
how would men believe and adore
preserve
for
many generations
the remembn
__
city
of God which had been shown
J/But
every night
come out these
envoys
of
beauty,
ana
light
the universe
with their
admonishing
smile.
The stars awaken a certain
reverence,
because
though
always present, they
are inaccessible
;
but all natural ob
jects
make a kindred
impression,
when the mind is
open
to their influence. Nature never wears a mean
appear-
ance..
Neither does the wisest man extort her
secret,
and lose his
curiosity by finding
out all her
perfection.
1C
NATUEE.
f
Nature never became a
toy
to a wise
spirit.
The flow
ers,
the
animals,
the
mountains,
reflected the wisdom of
his best
hour,
as much as
they
had
delighted
the sim-
icity
of his childhood.
When we
speak
of nature in this
manner,
we have a
distinct but most
poetical
sense in the mind. We mean
the
integrity
of
impression
made
by
manifold natural
objects.
It is this which
distinguishes
the stick of tim
ber of the
wood-cutter,
from the tree of the
poet.
The
charming landscape
which I saw this
morning
is indu
bitably
made
up
of some
twenty
or
thirty
farms. Miller
owns this
field,
Locke
that,
and
Manning
the woodland
beyond.
But none of them owns the
landscape.
There
is a
property
in the horizon which no man has but he
whose
eye
can
integrate
all the
parts,
that
is,
the
poet.
This is the best
part
of these men s
farms,
yet
to this
their
warranty-deeds give
no title.
To
speak truly,
few adult
persons
can see nature.
Most
persons
do not see the sun. At least
they
have
a
very superficial seeing.
The sun illuminates
only
the
eye
of the
man,
but shines into the
eye
and the heart of
the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and\
outward senses are still
truly adjusted
to each other J
who has retained the
spirit
of
infancy
even into the era
of manhood. His intercourse with heaven and earth
becomes
part
of his
daily
food. In the
presence
of na
ture,
a wild
delight
runs
through
the
man,
in
spite
of
real sorrows. Nature
says,
he is
my
creature,
anal
maugre
all his
impertinent griefs,
he shall be
glad
withj
me. Not the sun or the summer
alone,
but
every
hour
and season
yields
its tribute of
delight
;
for
every
hour
NATURE. 17
and
change corresponds
to and authorizes a different
state of the
mind,
from breathless noon to
grimmest
mid
night.
Nature is a
setting
that fits
equally
well a
comic?
or a
mourning piece.
In
good
health,
the air is a cofctial
of incredible virtue.
Crossing
a bare
common,
in snow-
puddles,
at
twilight,
under a clouded
sky,
without
having
in
my thoughts any
occurrence of
special good
fortune,
I have
enjoyed
a
perfect
exhilaration. I am
glad
to the
brink of fear. In the
woods, too,
a man casts off his
years,
as the snake his
slough,
and at what
period
soever
of
life,
is
always
a child. In the
woods,
is
perpetual
youth.
Within these
plantations
of
God,
a decorum and
sanctity reign,
a
perennial
festival is
dressed,
and the
guest
sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand
years.
In the
woods,
we return to reason and faith.
There I feel that
nothing
can befall me in
life,
no dis
grace,
no
calamity (leaving
me
my eyes),
which nature
cannot
repair. Standing
on the bare
ground, my
head
bathed
by
the blithe
air,
and
uplifted
into infinite
space,
all mean
egotism
vanishes. I become a
transparent
^|
eyeball
;
1 am
nothing
;
I see all
;
the currents of the \
Universal
Being
circulate
through
me;
I am
part
or I
particle
of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds^
then
foreign
and accidental : to be
brothers,
to be ac
quaintances,
master or
servant,
is then a trifle
and^a
disturbance. I am the lover of uncontained and immor-l
i_^
taLJp^ty^
In the
wilderness,
I find
something
more
dear and connate than in streets or
villages.
In the"
tranquil landscape,
and
especially
in the distant line of
the
horizon,
man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his
own nature.
18 COMMODITY.
The
greatest delight
which the fields and woods minis
ter,
is the
suggestion
of an occult relation between man
\^
and the
vegetable.
I am not alone and
unacknowledged.
They
nod to
me,
and I to them. The
waving
of the
boughs
in the storm is new to
me,
and old. It takes me
by surprise,
and
yet
is not unknown. Its effect is like
that of a
higher thought
or a better emotion
coming
over
me,
when I deemed I was
thinking justly
or
doing
right.
Yet it is certain that the
power
to
produce
this
delight
does not reside in
nature,
but in
man,
or in a
harmony
of
both. It is
necessary
to use these
pleasures
with
great
temperance.
For,
nature is not
always
tricked in holi
day
attire,
but the same scene which
yesterday
breathed
perfume
and
glittered
as for the frolic of the
nymphs,
is
overspread
with
melancholy to-day.
Nature
always
wears the colors of the
spirit.
To a man
laboring
under
calamity,
the heat of his own fire hath sadness in it.
Then,
there is a kind of
contempt
of the
landscape
felt
by
him who has
just
lost
by
death a dear friend. The
sky
is less
grand
as it shuts down over less worth in the
population.
CHAPTER II.
COMMODITY.
WHOEVER considers the final cause of the
world,
will
discern a multitude of uses that enter as
parts
into that
result.
They
all admit of
being
thrown into one of the
following
classes :
Commodity; Beauty; Language;
and
Discipline.
COMMODITY. 19
f
under the
general
name of
Commodity,
I rank all
X those
advantages
which our senses owe to nature.
This,
I of
course,
is a benefit which is
temporary
and
mediate,
I not
ultimate,
like its service to the soul. Yet
although
I
low,
it is
perfect
in its
kind,
and is the
only
use of nature
all men
apprehend.
The
misery
of man
appears
like childish
petulance,
when we
explore
the
steady
and
prodigal provision
that has been made for his
support
and
delight
on this
green
ball which floats him
through
the heavens. What
angels
invented these
splendid
orna
ments,
these rich
conveniences,
this ocean of air
above,
this ocean of water
beneath,
this firmament of earth be
tween ? this zodiac of
lights,
this tent of
dropping
clouds,
this
striped
coat of
climates,
this fourfold
year
?
Beasts,
fire, water, stones,
and corn serve him. The field is at
once his
floor,
his work
-yard,
his
play-ground,
his
garden,
and his bed.
"
More servants wait on man
_ _
Than he 11 take notice of."
Nature,
in its
ministry
to
man,
is not
only
the mate
rial,
but is also the
process
and the result. All the
parts
incessantly
work into eacli other s hands for the
profit
of
man. The wind sows the seed
;
the sun
evaporates
the
sea
;
the wind blows the
vapor
to the field
;
the
ice,
on
the other side of the
planet,
condenses rain on this
;
the
rain feeds the
plant;
the
plant
feeds the
animal;
and
thus the endless circulations of the divine
charity
nourish
man.
The useful arts are
reproductions
or new combinations
the wit of
man,
of the same natural benefactors. He
no
longer
waits for
favoring gales,
but
by
means of
ma
Utf
20
BEAUTY.
steam,
he realizes the fable of JEolus s
bag,
and
carries
the
two-and-thirty
winds in the boiler of his boat. To
diminish
friction,
he
paves
the road with iron
bars, and,
mounting
a coach with a
ship-load
of
men, animals,
and
merchandise behind
him,
he darts
through
the
country
from town to
town,
like an
eagle
or a swallow
through
the air.
By
the
aggregate
of these
aids,
how is the face
of the world
changed,
from the era of Noah to that of
Napoleon
! The
private poor
man hath
cities,
ships,
canals,
bridges,
built for him. He
goes
to the
post-
office,
and the human race run on his errands
;
to the
book-shop,
and the human race read and write of all that
happens,
for him
;
to the
court-house,
and nations
repair
his
wrongs.
Hs sets his house
upon
the
road,
and the
human race
go
forth
every morning,
and shovel out the
snow,
and cut a
path
for him.
But there is no need of
specifying particulars
in this
class of uses. The
catalogue
is
endless,
and the
examples
so
obvious,
that I shall leave them to the reader s reflec
tion,
with the
general
remark,
that this
mercenary
benefit
is one which has
respect
to a further
good.
A man is
fed,
not that he
may
be
fed,
but that he
may
work.
CHAPTER III.
BEAUTY.
A NOBLEU want of man is served
by
nature,
namely,
Lthe
love of
Beauty.
The ancient Greeks called the world
KOCTUOS,
beauty.
Such is the constitution of all
things,
or such the
plastic
BEAUTY.
21
power
of
thejiiima.^
pyp^
lhat
the
primary
forms,
as the
fsky,
the
mountain,
the
tree,
the
animal,
give
us a
delight
\n aridr
for
themselves
;
a
pleasure arising
from
outline,
color, motion,
and
grouping.
This seems
partly owing
to the
eye
itself. The
eye
is the best of
artists.
By
the
mutual action of its structure and of the laws of
light,
perspective
is
produced,
which
integrates every
mass of
objects,
of what character
soever,
into a well-colored and
shaded
globe,
so that where the
particular objects
are
mean and
unaffecting,
the
landscape
which
they compose
is round and
symmetrical.
And as the
eye
is the best
composer,
so
light
is the first of
painters.
There is no
object
so foul that intense
light
will not make beautiful.
And the stimulus it affords to the
sense,
and a sort of
infinitude which it
hath,
like
space
and
time,
make all
matter
gay.
Even the
corpse
has its own
beauty.
But
besides this
general grace
diffused over
nature,
almost
all the individual forms are
agreeable
to the
eye,
as is
proved by
our endless imitations of some of
them,
as the
acorn,
the
grape,
the
pine-cone,
the
wheat-ear,
the
egg,
the
wings
and forms of most
birds,
the lion s
claw,
the
serpent,
the
butterfly,
sea-shells, flames, clouds, buds,
leaves,
and the forms of
many
trees,
as the
palm.
Eor better
consideration,
we
may
distribute the
aspects
of
Beauty
in a threefold manner.
r**^ 1.
First,
the
simple perception
of natural forms is a
1 delight. The influence of the forms and actions in na-
"*^^"*
ture is so needful to
man, that,
in its lowest
functions,
it
seems to lie on the confines of
commodity
and
beauty.
pUb
the
body
and mind which have been
cramped by
nox-
\ ious work or
company,
nature is medicinal and restores
u
2:2 BEAUTY.
their tone. The
tradesman,
the
attorney,
comes out of
the din and craft of the
street,
and sees the
sky
and the
\___wjx)ds,
and is a man
again.
In their eternal
calm,
he
finds himself. The health of the
eye
seems to demand a
horizon. We are never
tired,
so
long
as we can see far
enough.
But in other
hours,
Nature satisfies
by
its
loveliness,
and without
any
mixture of
corporeal
benefit. I see the
spectacle
of
morning
from the
hill-top
over
against my
house,
from
daybreak
to
sunrise,
with emotions which an
angel -might
share. The
long
slender bars of cloud float
like fishes in the sea of crimson
light.
Prom the
earth,
as a
shore,
I look out into that silent sea. I seem to
partake
its
rapid
transformations : the active enchant
ment reaches
my
dust,
and I dilate and
conspire
with
the
morning
wind. How does Nature
deify
us with a
few and
cheap
elements! Give me health and a
day,
and I will make the
pomp
of
emperors
ridiculous. The
dawn is
my Assyria
;
the sunset and moonrise
my
Paphos,
and
unimaginable
realms of faerie
;
broad noon
shall be
my England
of the senses and the understand
ing
;
the
night
shall be
my Germany
of
mystic philoso
phy
and dreams.
Not less
excellent,
except
for our less
susceptibility
in
the
afternoon,
was the
charm,
last
evening,
of a
January
sunset. The western clouds divided and subdivided
themselves into
pink
flakes modulated with tints of un
speakable
softness
;
and the air had so much life and
sweetness,
that it was a
pain
to come within doors.
What was it that nature would
say
? Was there no
meaning
in the live
repose
of the
valley
behind the
mill,
BEAUTY.
23
and which Homer or
Shakspeare
could not re-form for
me in words ? The leafless trees become
spires
of flame
in the
sunset,
with the blue east for their
background,
and the stars of the dead calices of
flowers,
and
every
withered stem and stubble rimed with
frost,
contribute
something
to the mute music.
The inhabitants of cities
suppose
that the
country
land
scape
is
pleasant only
half the
year.
I
please myself
with the
graces
of the winter
scenery,
and believe that
we are as much touched
by
it as
by
the
genial
influences
of summer. To the attentive
eye,
each moment of the
year
has its own
beauty,
and in the same
field,
it
beholds,
every
hour,
a
picture
which was never seen
before,
and
which shall never be seen
again.
The heavens
change
every
moment,
and reflect their
glory
or
gloom
on the
plains
beneath. The state of the
crop
in the
surrounding
farms alters the
expression
of the earth from week to
week. The succession of native
plants
in the
pastures
and
roadsides,
which makes the silent clock
by
which
time tells the summer
hours,
will make even the divisions
of the
day
sensible to a keen observer. The tribes of
birds and
insects,
like the
plants punctual
to their
time,
follow each
other,
and the
year
has room for all.
By
water-courses,
the
variety
is
greater.
In
July,
the blue
pontederia
or
pickerel-weed
blooms in
large
beds in the
shallow
parts
of our
pleasant
river,
and swarms with
yellow
butterflies in continual motion. Art cannot rival
this
pomp
of
purple
and
gold.
Indeed,
the river is a
perpetual gala,
and boasts each month a new ornament.
But this
beauty
of Nature which is seen and felt as
beauty,
is the least
part.
The shows of
day,
the
dewy
24
BEAUTY.
morning,
the
rainbow, mountains,
orchards in
blossom,
stars,
moonlight,
shadows in still
water,
and the
like,
if
too
eagerly
hunted,
become shows
merely,
and mock us
with their
unreality.
Go out of the house to see the
moon,
and t is mere tinsel
;
it will not
please
as when
its
light
shines
upon your necessary journey.
The
beauty
that shimmers in the
yellow
afternoons of Octo
ber,
who ever could clutch it ? Go forth to find
it,
and it is
gone
: t is
only
a
mirage
as
you
look from the
wjmdows
of
diligence.
2. The
presence
of a
higher, namely,
of the
spiritual
element
is essential to its
perfection.
The
high
and di
vine
beauty
which can be loved without
effeminacy,
is
that which is found in combination with the human will.
Beauty
is the mark God sets
upon
virtue.
Every
natural
action is
graceful. Every
heroic act is also
decent,
and
causes the
place
and the
bystanders
to shine. We are
taught by great
actions that the universe is the
property
of
every
individual in it.
Every
rational creature has all
)
nature for his
dowry
and estate. It is
his,
if he
willy
He
may
divest himself of it
;
he
may creep
into a
corner,
and abdicate his
kingdom,
as most men
do,
but he is
entitled to the world
by
his constitution. In
proportion
to the
energy
of his
thought
and
will,
he takes
up
the
world into himself. "All those
things
for which men
plough,
build,
or
sail,
obey
virtue,"
said Sallust. "The
winds and
waves,"
said
Gibbon,
"
are
always
on the side
of the ablest
navigators."
So are the sun and moon and
all the stars of heaven. When a noble act is
done,
perchance
in a scene of
great
natural
beauty;
when
Leonidas and his three hundred
martyrs
consume one
BEAUTY. 25
day
in
dying,
and the sun and moon come each and look
at them once in the
steep
defile of
Thermopylae
;
when
Arnold
Winkelried,
in the
high Alps,
under the shadow
of the
avalanche,
gathers
in his side a sheaf of Austrian
spears
to break the line for his comrades
;
are not these
heroes entitled to add the
beauty
of the scene to the
beauty
of the deed ? When the bark of Columbus nears
the shore of America
;
before
it,
the beach lined with
savages, fleeing
out of all their huts of cane
;
the sea
behind
;
and the
purple
mountains of the Indian Archi
pelago
around,
can we
separate
the man from the
living
picture
? Does not the New World clothe his form
wj,
her
palm-groves
and savannahs as fit
drapery
? Ever
does natural
beauty
steal in like
air,
and
envelop great
actions. When Sir
Harry
Vane was
dragged up
CEe
Tower-hill,
sitting
on a sled to suffer
death,
as the cham
pion
of the
English
laws,
one of the multitude cried out
to
him,
"
You never sat on so
glorious
a seat." Charles
II.,
to intimidate the citizens of
London,
caused the
patriot
Lord Russell to be drawn in an
open
coach,
through
the
principal
streets of the
city,
on his
way
to
the scaffold.
"But,"
his
biographer says,
"the multi
tude
imagined they
saw
liberty
and virtue
sitting by
his
side." In
private places, among
sordid
objects,
an act
of truth or heroism seems at once to draw to itself the
sky
as its
temple,
the sun as its candle. Nature stretch-
etlibut her arms to embrace
map,
only
let his
thoughts
Jie^of
equal greatness. Willingly
does she follow his
steps
with the rose and the
violet,
and bend her lines of
grandeur
and
grace
to the decoration of her
darling
child.
Only
let his
thoughts
be of
equal scope,
and
2
26 BEAUTY.
the frame will suit the
picture.
A virtuous man is in
unison with her
works,
and makes the central
figure
of
the visible
sphere.
Homer, Pindar, Socrates, Phocion,
associate themselves
fitly
in our
memory
with the
geog
raphy
and climate of Greece. The visible heavens and
earth
sympathize
with Jesus. And in common
life,
who
soever has seen a
person
of
powerful
character and
happy genius
will have remarked how
easily
he took all
things along
with
him,
the
persons,
the
opinions,
and
the
day,
and nature became
ancillary
to a man.
3. There is still another
aspect
under which the
beauty
of the world
may
be
viewed,
namely,
as it be-
cpmes
an
object
of the intellect. Beside the relation of
tilings
to
virtue,
they
have a relation to
thought.
The
intellect searches out the absolute order of
things
as
they
stand in the mind of
God,
and without the colors of affec-
\
tion. The intellectual and the active
powers
seem to
I succeed each
other,
and the exclusive
activity
of the one
ates the exclusive
activity
of the other. There is
something unfriendly
in each to the
other,
biit-fekeyare
lie the alternate
periods of feeding
and
working
j n jsmi.
maTs^Tatni
prepares
and will be followed
by
the other.
Therefore does
beauty,
which,
in relation to
actions,
as
we have
seen,
comes
unsought,
and comes because it is
unsought,
remain for the
apprehension
and
pursuit
of the
intellect
;
and then
again,
in its
turn,
of the active
power.
Nothing
divine dies. All
good
is
eternally reproductive.
The
beauty
of nature reforms itself in the
mind,
and not
for barren
contemplation,
but for new creation.
All men are in some
degree impressed by
the face
of the world
;
some men even to
delight.
This love of
BEAUTY. 27
beauty
is Taste. Others have the same love in such ex-
cessrTliat,
flOt content with
admiring, they
seek to em
body
it in new forms. The creation of beauty is Art.
The
production
of a work of art throws a
lighF upon
the
mystery
of
humanity.
A work of art is an abstract
or
epitome
of the world. It is the result or
expression
if Tint
HP, \n miniature.
For,
although
the works
of_na-
ture are innumerable and all
different,
the result or the
Ufalure is
expression
of them all is similar "and
single
a sea of forms
radically
alike and even
unique.
A
leaf,
a
sunbeam,
a
landscape,
the
ocean,
make an
analogous
impression
on the mind. What is common to them
all,
that
perfectness
and
harmonyTis beauty.
TEe stand
of
beauty
is the entire circuit of
natural^
forms,
fhft_tnfa1it.y qjiature
;
which the Italians
expressed by
defining beauty"iT"pm
nell uno."
Nothing
is
quite
beautiful
alone;
nothing
but is beautiful in the whole,
single object
is
only
so far beautiful as it
suggests
this
V^universal
grace.
The
poet,
the
painter,
the
sculptor,
the
musician,
the
architect,
seek each to concentrate
this radiance of the world on one
point,
and each in
his several work to
satisfy
the love of
beauty
which
stimulates him to
produce.
Thus is
Art,
a nature
passed
through
the alembic of man. Thus in
art,
does nature
work
through
the will of a man filled with the
beauty
of
her first works.
The world thus exists to the soul to
satisfy
the desire
of
beauty.
This element I call an
ultimate end. No
son can be asked or
given why
the soul seeks
beauty.
Beauty,
in its
largest
and
profoundest sense,
is one ex
pression
for the
universe. God is the all-fair. Truth
28 LANGUAGE.
and
goodness
and
beauty
are but different faces of the
same All. But
beauty
in nature is not ultimate. It is
the herald of inward and internal
beauty,
and is not
alone a solid and
satisfactory good.
It must stand as a
part,
and not as
yet
the last or
highest expression
of the
final cause of Nature.
CHAPTEE IV.
LANGUAGE.
LANGUAGE is a third use which Nature subserves to
man. Nature is the vehicle of
thought,
and in a
simple,
douide,
and threefold
degree.
/ 1. Words are
signs
of natural facts.
/ 2. Particular natural facts are
symbols
of
particular
(
spiritual
facts.
\^3. Nature is the
symbol
of
spirit.
i 1. Wnrrln are
fii^iifi
of
natural facts. The use of nat-
tral
history
is to
givfi ys
aiH in
snpprratural
history : the
Aise of the outer
creation,
to
give
us
language
for the
(beings
and
changes
of the inward creation.
Every
word
pinch
is used to
express
a moral or intellectual
fact,
if
/traced to its
root,
is found to be borrowed
from some ma-
Itfirial
appearance.
Right means straight
;
wrong
means
tiffistejl. Spirit primarily
means wind
;
transgression,
the
crossing of
a line
;
supercilious,
the
raising of
the
eye
brow. We
say
the heart to
express
emotion,
the head
to denote
thought
;
and
thought
and emotion are words
borrowed from sensible
things,
and now
appropriated
to
spiritual
nature. Most of the
process Jvgjwhjhh
this
LANGUAGE. 29
transformation is made is hidden from us in the remote
time when
language
was framed
,;
but the same
tendency
-
may
be
ddify
oljserved in children. Children and
savages
use
only
nouns or names of
things,
which
they
convert
into
verbs,
and
apply
to
analogous
mental acts.
2. But this
origin
of all words that
convey
a
spiritual
import
so
conspicuous
a fact in the
history
of
language
is our least debt to nature.
Jtjs
not words
onljjhat
are emblematic
;
it is
things
which are emblematic.
Every
natural fact is a symbol
of some
spiritual
fact.
Every appearance in^pafairp-
^nrr^gj^
"^^
to some state of
the mind,
and that state of the rnrnd can
only"
be de
scribed
by presenting
that natural
appearance
as its
pic-
ture. _An
enraged
man is a
lion,
a
cunning
man is a
fox,
a firm man is a
rock,
a learned man is a~torcli. A lamb
is innocence
;
a snake is subtle
spite
;
flowers
express
to
us the delicate affections.
Light
and darkness are our
familiar
expression
for
knowledge
and
ignorance
;
and
heat for love. Visible distance behind and before us is
respectively
our
image
of
memory
and
hope.
Who looks
upon
a river in a meditative
hour,
and is
not reminded of the flux of all
things
? Throw a stone
into the
stream,
and the circles that
propagate
them
selves are the beautiful
type
of all influence. IVKm
conscious of a universal soul within or behind his indi
vidual
life, wherein,
as in a
firmament,
the natures of
\
Justice,
Truth.
Love, Freedom,
arise and shine. This
universal
soul,
he calls Reason : it is not mine or
thine,
or
his,
but we are its
;
we are its
property
and
m&tu
-
.
And the blue
sky
in which the
private
earth is
buried,
the
sky
with its eternal
calm,
and full of
everlasting
30 LANGUAGE.
orbs,
is the
type
of Reason. That
which,
intellectually
considered,
we call
Reason,
considered in relation to
nature,
we call
Spirit. Spirit
is the Creator.
Spirit
hath life in itself. And man in all
ages
and countries
embodies it in his
language,
as the
FATHER.
It is
easily
seen that there is
cious in these
analogies,
but that
they
are
constant,
and
pervade
nature. These are not the dreams of a few
poets,
here and
there,
but rnan is an
analogist,
and
studies relations in all
objects.
He is
placed
in the
centre of
beings,
and a
ray
of relation
passes
from
every
other
being
to him. And neither can man be understood
without these
objects,
nor these
objects
without man.
All the facts in natural
history
taken
by
themselves have
no
value,
but are barren like a
single
sex. But
marry
it
to human
history,
and it is full of life. Whole
Floras,
all Linneeus s and Buffon s
volumes,
are
dry catalogues
of
facts; bu{.
the most trivial
of these
facts,
the
habit of
a
plant,
the
organs,
or
work,
or noise of an
insect,
ap
plied
to the illustration oi a fact in intellectual
philoso
phy,
or,
in
any way,
associated to human
nature,
affects
us in the most
lively
and
agreeable
manner. The seed
of a plant, to what affecting analogies
in
the nature
of
man is that little fruit made use
of,
in all
discourse,
up
to" the vOlTO
of"Paul,
who calls the" "human
corpse
a~se
e d
,
"
It Ts sown a natural
body
;
it is raised a
spiritual
body."."
The motion ot the earth round its
axis",
and
round the
sun,
makes the
day,
and the
year.
These are
certain amounts of brute
light
and heat. But is there
no intent of an
analogy
between man s life and the
seasons ? And do the seasons
gain
no
grandeur
or
LANGUAGE.
31
pathos
from that
analogy
? The instincts of the ant are
very unimportant,
considered as the ant s
;
but the mo
ment a
ray
of relation is seen to extend from it to
man,
and the little
drudge
is seen to be a
monitor,
a little
body
with a
mighty
heart,
then all its
habits,
even that said
to be
recently
observed,
that it never
sleeps,
becomes
sublime.
Because of this radical
correspondence
between visibL
things
and human
thoughts, savages,
wTTo
have"only
wha
"is*
necessary,
converse in
figures.
As we
go
bacfr
in his
tory, language
becomes
more
picturesque,
until its in-
jg.pny,
wlip.n if. is
all
poetry;
or all
spiritual
tacts are
represented
by
natural
symbols.
The same
symbojs_ai
e
found to make the
original
elements of all
languages.
It has moreover been
observed,
that the idioms of all
languages approach
each other in
passages
of the
greatest
eloquence
and
power.
And as this is the first
language,
so is it the last. This immediate
dependence
of
language
upon
nature,
this conversion of an outward
phenomenon
into a
type
of somewhat in human
life,
never loses its
power
to affect us. It is this which
gives
that
piquancy
to the conversation of a
strong-natured
farmer or back
woodsman,
which all men relish.
A man s
power
to connect his
thought
with its
proper
symbol,
and so to utter
it,
depends
on the
simplicity
of
his
character,
*that
is,
upon
his love of
truth,
and his
desire to communicate it without loss. The
corruption
of man is followed
by
the
corruption
of
lan^imff
1
"
When
simplicity
of character and the
sovereignty
of ideas is
broken
up by
the
prevalence
of
secondary
desires,
the
desire of
riches,
of
pleasure,
of
power,
and of
praise,
32 LANGUAGE.
f and
duplicity
and falsehood take
place
of
simplicity
and
/
truth,
the
power
over nature as an
interpreter
of the
lyli
is
i"
-3
dpftrpp,
Jft*t
new
imagery
ceases to be
created,
and old words are
perverted
to stand for
things
which are not
;
a
paper currency
is
employed,
when there
is no bullion in the vaults. In due
time,
the fraud is
manifest,
and words lose all
power
to stimulate the
understanding
or the affections. Hundreds of writers
may
be found in
every long-civilized
nation,
who for a
short time
believe,
and make others
believe,
that
they
see and utter
truths,
who do not of themselves clothe
one
thought
in its natural
garment,
but who feed un
consciously
on the
language
created
by
the
primary
writers of the
country,
those,
namely,
who hold
primarily
on nature.
But wise men
pierce
this rotten diction and fasten
words
again
to visible
things
;
so that
picturesque
*lan-
guage
is at once a
commanding
certificate that he who
employs
it is a man in alliance with truth and God.
The moment our discourse rises above the
grounolme
of familiar
facts,
and is inflamed with
passion
or exalted
by thought,
it clothes itself in
images.
A man
convert
ing
in
earnest,
if he watch his intellectual
processes,
wily
find that a material
image,
more or less
luminous,
arise
in his
mind,
contemporaneous
with
every thought,
whicl
furnishes the vestment of the
thought.
Hence,
goo(
writing
and brilliant discourse are
perpetual allegories
This
imagery
is
spontaneous.
It is the
blending
of ex
perience
with the
present
action of the mind. It ii
proper
creation. It is the
working
of the
Original
Cause
through
the instruments he has
already
made.
x
LANGUAGE. 33
These facts
may suggest
the
advantage
which the coun
try
life
possesses
for a
powerful
mind,
over the artificial
and curtailed life of cities. We know more from nature
than we can at will communicate. Its
light
flows into the
mind
evermore,
and we
forget
its
presence.
The
poet,
the
orator,
bred in the
woods,
whose senses have been
nourished
by
their fair and
appeasing changes, year
after
year,
without
design
and without
heed,
shall not lose
their lesson
altogether,
in the roar of cities or the broil of
politics. Long
hereafter,
amidst
agitation
and terror in
national
councils,
in the hour of
revolution,
these
solid
images
shall
reappear
in their
morning
lustre,
as fit
symbols
and words of the
thoughts
which the
passing
events shall awaken. At the call of a noble
sentiment,
again
the woods
wave,
the
pines
murmur,
the river rolls
and
shines,
and the cattle low
upon
the
mountains,
as he
saw and heard them in his
infancy.
And with these
forms,
the
spells
of
persuasion,
the
keys
of
power,
are
put
into his hands.
3. We are thus assisted
by
natural
objects
in the ex
pression
of
particular meanings.
But how
great
a lan
guage
to
convey
such
peppercorn
informations ! Did it
need such noble races of
creatures,
this
profusion
of I
forms,
this host of orbs in
heaven,
to furnish man with /
the
dictionary
and
grammar
of his
municipal speech^
^
Whilst we use this
grand cipher
to
expedite
the affairs of
our
pot
and
kettle,
we feel that we have not
yet put
it to
its
use,
neither are able. We are like travellers
using
the cinders of a volcano to roast their
eggs.
Whilst we
see that it
always
stands
ready
to clothe what we would
say,
we cannot avoid the
question,
whether
the characters
34 LANGUAGE.
are not
significant
of themselves. Have
mountains,
and
waves,
and
skies,
no
significance
but what we
consciously
give
them,
when we
employ
them as emblems of our
thoughts
? The word is emblematic. Parts of
speech
are
metaphors,
because the whole of nature is a
metaphor
of the human mind. The laws of moral nature answer to
those of matter as face to face in a
glass.
"
The visible
world and the relation of its
parts
is the
dial-plate
of
the invisible." The axioms of
physics
translate the law?
of ethics.
Thus,
"
the whole is
greater
than its
part
"
;
"
reaction is
equal
to action
"
;
"
the smallest
weight may
be made to lift the
greatest,
the difference of
weight
be
ing compensated by
time
"
;
and
many
the like
proposi
tions,
which have an ethical as well as
physical
sense.
These
propositions
have a much more extensive and uni
versal sense when
applied
to human
life,
than when con
fined to technical use.
In like
manner,
the memorable words of
history,
and
the
proverbs
of
nations,
consist
usually
of a natural
fact,
selected as a
picture
or
parable
of a moral truth. Thus :
A
rolling
stone
gathers
no moss
;
A bird in the hand is
worth two in the bush
;
A
cripple
in the
right way
will
beat a racer in the
wrong
;
Make
hay
while the sun shines
;
T is hard to
carry
a full
cup
even
;
Vinegar
is the son of
wine
;
The last ounce broke the camel s back
;
Long-lived
trees make roots first
;
and the like. In their
primary
sense these are trivial
facts,
but we
repeat
them for the
value of their
analogical import.
What is true of
prov
erbs is true of all
fables,
parables,
and
allegories.
This relation between the mind and matter is not fan
cied
by
some
poet,
but stands in the will of
God,
and so
LANGUAGE.
35
is free to be known
by
all men. It
appears
to
men,
or it
does not
appear.
When in fortunate hours we
ponder
this
miracle,
the wise man
doubts, if,
at all other
times,
he is not blind and
deaf;
"
Can these
things
be,
And overcome us like a summer s
cloud,
Without our
special
wonder ?
"
for the universe becomes
transparent,
and the
light
of
higher
laws than its own shines
through
it. It is the
standing problem
which has exercised the wonder and
the
study
of
every
fine
genius
since the world
began
;
from the era of the
Egyptians
and the
Brahmins,
to that
of
Pythagoras,
of
Plato,
of
Bacon,
of
Leibnitz,
of Sweden-
borg.
There sits the
Sphinx
at the
roadside,
and from
age
to
age,
as each
prophet
comes
by,
he tries his
fortuity
at
reading
her riddle. There seems to be a
necessity
inl
spirit
to manifest itself in material forms
;
and
day
andl
night,
river and
storm,
beast and
bird,
acid and
alkali,,
pre-exist
in
necessary
Ideas in the mind of
God,
and are
what
they
are
by
virtue of
preceding
affections,
in the
world of
spirit.
A Pact is the end or last issue of
spirit.
The visible creation is the terminus or the circumference
of the invisible world.
"
Material
objects,"
said a French
philosopher,
"
are
necessarily
kinds of sconce of the sub
stantial
thoughts
of the
Creator,
which must
always pre
serve an
exact relation to their first
origin;
in other
words,
visible nature must have a.
spiritual
and moral
side."
**"
This doctrine is
abstruse,
and
though
the
images
of
"
garment,"
"
scoriae,"
"
mirror," etc.,
may
stimulate
the
36 DISCIPLINE.
fancy,
we must summon the aid of subtler and more
vital
expositors
to make it
plain.
"
Every scripture
is
to be
interpreted by
the same
spirit
which
gave
it
forth,"
is the fundamental law of criticism. A life in
harmOTiy
A
with
nature,
the love of truth and of
virtue,
will
purge
j
the
eyes
to understand her text.
By degrees
we
may
come to know the
primitive
sense of the
permanent
ob
jects
of
nature,
so that the world shall be to us an
open
book,
and
every
form
significant
of its hidden life and
final cause.
A. new interest
surprises
us, whilst,
under the view
now
suggested,
we
contemplate
the fearful extent and
multitude of
objects
;
since
"
every object rightly
seen
unlocks a new
faculty
of the soul." That which was
unconscious truth
becomes,
when
interpreted
and defined
in an
object,
a
part
of the domain of
knowledge,
a
new
weapon
in the
magazine
of
power.
CHAPTER
V.
DISCIPLINE.
IN view of the
significance
of
nature,
we arrive at
once at a new
fact,
that nature is a
discipline.
This
use of the world includes the
preceding
uses,
as
parts
of
pace,
time,
society,
labor, climate, food,
locomotion,
\Jhe
animals,
the mechanical
forces,
give
us sincerest
les
sons,
day by day,
whose
meaning
is unlimited.
They
edu
cate
both the
LTndfjsfaTidipfy
and f.hft
TRpflgnn. T^yp-gy
tter is a school for the
understanding.
its
DISCIPLINE. 37
solidity
or
resistance,
its
inertia,
its
extension,
its
figure,
its
divisibility.
The
understanding
adds, divides,
com
bines,
measures,
and finds nutriment and room for its
activity
in this
worthy
scene.
Meantime,
Reason trans
fers all these lessons into its own world of
thought, by
perceiving
the
analogy
that marries Matter and Mind.
1.
NahiTP. is
ft
diSffJP
1 " 1
?
" f
tfl
lft
""dftrsbiT^mor
in
jp.
tellectual truths. Our
dealing
with sensible
objects
is a
constant exercise in the
necessary
lessons of
difference,
of
likeness,
of
order,
of
being
and
seeming,
of
progressive
arrangement
;
of ascent from
particular
to
general ;
of
combination to one end of manifold forces.
Propor
tioned to the
importance
of the
organ
to be
formed,
is
the extreme care with which its tuition is
provided,
a care
pretermitted
in no
single
case. What tedious
training, day
after
day, year
after
year,
never
ending,
to
form the common-sense
;
what continual
reproduction
of
annoyances,
inconveniences,
dilemmas
;
what
rejoicing
over us of little men
;
what
disputing
of
prices,
what
reckonings
of
interest,
and all to form the Hand of
the mind
;
to instruct us that
"
good thoughts
are no
better than
good
dreams,
unless
they
be executed !
"
The same
good
office is
performed by Property
and its
filial
systems
of debt and credit.
Debt,
grinding
debt,
whose iron face the
widow,
the
orphan,
and the sons of
genius
fear and hate
; debt,
which consumes so much
time,
which so
cripples
and disheartens a
great spirit
with cares that seem so
base,
is a
preceptor
whose les
sons cannot be
foregone,
and is needed most
by
those
who suffer from it most.
Moreover,
property,
which
has been well
compared
to
snow,
"
if it fall level to-
38 DISCIPLINE.
day,
it will be blown into drifts
to-morrow/
is the
surface action of internal
machinery,
like the index on
the face of a clock. Whilst now it is the
gymnastics
of
the
understanding,
it is
hiving
in the
foresight
of the
spirit, experience
in
profounder
laws.
The wlHft
olinl ntf
!f:pr flnr>
fr"*Ml
npi
of the
indiyi^jial
are
affected
by
the least
inequalities
in
the culture of the
tinklerstanding
;
for
example,
in the
perception
of differ
ences. Therefore is
Space,
and therefore
Time,
that
man
may
know that
things
are not huddled and
lumped,
but sundered and individual. A bell and a
plough
have
each their
use,
and neither can do the office of the other.
Water is
good
to
drink,
coal to
burn,
wool to wear
;
but
wool cannot be
drunk,
nor water
spun,
nor coal eaten.
The wise man shows his wisdom in
separation,
in
grada
tion,
and his scale of creatures and of merits is as wide
as nature. The foolish have no
range
in their
scale,
but
suppose every
man is as
every
other man. What is not
good they
call the
worst,
and what is not hateful
they
call the best.
In like
manner,
what
good
heed Nature forms in us !
She
pardons
no mistakes. Her
yea
is
yea,
and her
nay,
nay.
The first
steps
in
Agriculture, Astronomy, Zoology
(those
first
steps
which the
farmer,
the
hunter,
and the
sailor
take)
teach that Nature s dice are
always
loaded
;
that in her
heaps
and rubbish are concealed sure and
useful results.
How
calmly
and
genially
the mind
apprehends
one
after another the laws of
physics
! What noble emotions
dilate the mortal as he enters into the counsels of the
DISCIPLINE. 39
*
reation,
and feels
by knowledge
the
privilege
to BE !
His
insiglit
refines him. The
beauty
of nature shines in
his own breast. Man is
greater
that he can see
this,
and
the universe
less,
because Time and
Space
relations van
ish as laws are known.
Here
again
we are
impressed
and even daunted
by
the
immense Universe to be
explored.
"
What we
know,
is
a
point
to what we do not know."
Open any
recent
journal
of
science,
and
weigh
the
problems suggested
concerning Light,
Heat,
Electricity, Magnetism, Physi
ology, Geology,
and
judge
whether the interest of natural
science is
likely
to be soon exhausted.
Passing by many particulars
of the
discipline
of na
ture,
we must not omit to
specify
two.
The exercise
of
thp. Will
or the lesson of
power
is
taught
in
every
event. From the child s successive
pos
session of his several senses
up
to the hour when he
saith,
"
Thy
will be done !
"
he is
learning
the
secret,
that he can reduce under his
will,
not
only particular
events,
but
great
classes,
nay
the whole series of
events,
and so conform all facts to his character. Nature is
thoroughly
mediate. It is made to serve. It receives
the dominion of man as
meekly
as the ass on which the
Saviour rode. It offers all its
kingdoms
to man as the
raw material which he
may
mould into what is useful.
He is never
weary
of
working
it
up.
He
forges
the
subtile and delicate air into wise and melodious
words,
and
gives
them
wing
as
angels
of
persuasion
and com
mand. One after
another,
his victorious
thought
comes
up
with and reduces all
things,
until the world
becomes,
at
last,
only
a realized
will,
the double of the man.
40 DISCIPLINE.
2.
Sensible
objects
conform to the
premonitions
oi
Reason and reflect the conscience. All
things
are moral
;
and in their boundless
changes
tiave an
unceasing
refer
ence to
spiritual
nature. THerefore is nature
glorious
with
form, color,
and
motion,
that
every globe
in the re
motest heaven
;
every
chemical
change
from the rudest
crystal up
to the laws of life
;
every change
of
vegeta
tion from the first
principle
of
growth
in the
eye
of a
leaf,
to the
tropical
forest and antediluvian coal-mine
;
every
animal function from the
sponge up
to
Hercules,
shall hint or thunder to man the laws of
right
and
wrong,
and echo the Ten Commandments. Therefore is nature
ever the
ally
of
Religion
: lends all her
pomp
and nclTes
to the
religious
sentiment.
Prophet
and
priest,
David,
Isaiah, Jesus,
have drawn
deeply
from this source. This
ethical character so
penetrates
the bone and marrow of na
ture,
as to seem the end for which it was made. What
ever
private purpose
is answered
by any
member or
part,
this is its
public
and universal
function,
and is never
omitted.
Nothing
in nature is exhausted in its first :use.
When a
thing
has served an enS to the
uttermost,
it is
wholly
new for an ulterior service. In
God,
every
end
is converted into a new means. Thus the use of com
modity, regarded by
itself,
is mean and
squalid.
But it is
to the mind an education in the doctrine of
-Use,
namely,
that a
thing
is
good only
so far as it serves
;
that a con
spiring
of
parts
and efforts to the
production
of an
end,
is essential to
any being.
The first and
gross
manifesta
tion of this truth is our inevitable and hated
training
in
values and
wants,
in corn and meat.
It has
already
been
illustrated,
that
every_natural pro-
DISCIPLINE. 41
of
*
..mm^l
sp.ntennft
The moral law lies
^
at the
centre of nature and radiates to the circumference. -*-"
It is the
pith
and marrow of every substance,
every
rela-
tion,
and
every process.
All
things
with which we deal
preach
to us. What is a farm but a mute
gospel
? The
chaff and the
wheat,
weeds and
plants, blight,
rain,
in
sects, sun,
it is a sacred emblem from the first furrow
of
spring
to the last stack which the snow of winter
overtakes in the fields. But the
sailor,
the
shepherd,
the
miner,
the
merchant,
in their several
resorts,
have
each an
experience precisely parallel,
and
leading
to the
same conclusion : because all
organizations
are
radically
alike. Nor can it be doubted that this moral sentiment
which thus scenis the air
y
grows
in the
grain,
and im
pregnates
the waters of the
world,
is
^jigM Ky
-n\y\\.
and
jnto
his soul. The moral influence of nature
upon
Vj
every
individual
is that amount
offfnTh
whinh it
illus.-^y-
trates to him. Who can estimate this ? Who can
guess
how inilUll firmness the sea-beaten rock has
taught
the
fisherman ? how much
tranquillity
has been reflected to
man from the azure
sky,
over whose
unspotted deeps
the
winds forevermore drive flocks of
stormy
clouds,
and
leave no wrinkle or stain ? how much
industry
and
provi
dence and affection we have
caught
from the
pantomime
of brutes ? What a
searching preacher
of
self-command
is the
varying phenomenon
of Health !
Herein is
especially apprehended
the
unity
of
Nature,
the
unity
in
variety,
which meets us
everywhere.
All the endless
variety
of
things
make an identical im
pression.
Xenophanes complained
in his old
age,
that,
look
where he
would,
all
things
hastened back to
unity
:
42 DISCIPLINE.
he was
weary
of
seeing
the same
entity
in the
tedious
variety
of forms. The fable of Proteus has a cordial
truth. A
leaf,
a
drop,
a
crystal,
a moment of
time,
is
related to the
whole,
and
partakes
of the
perfection
of
the whole. Each
particle
is a
microcosm,
and
faithfully
renders the likeness of the world.
Not
only
resemblances exist in
things
whose
analogy
is
obvious,
as when we detect the
type
of the human
hand in the
flipper
of the fossil
saurus,
but also in
objects
wherein there is
great superficial
unlikeuess. Thus ar
chitecture is called
"
frozen music
"
by
De Stael and
Goethe. Vitruvius
thought
an architect should be a musi
cian.
"
A Gothic
church,"
said
Coleridge,
"
is a
petrified
religion."
Michel
Angelo
maintained, that,
to an archi
tect,
a
knowledge
of
anatomy
is essential. In
Haydn
s
oratorios,
the notes
present
to the
imagination,
not
only
motions, as,
of the
snake,
the
stag,
and the
elephant,
but
colors also
;
as the
green grass.
The law of harmonic
sounds
reappears
in the harmonic colors. The
granite
is
differenced in its laws
only by
the more or less of
heat,
from the river that wears it
away.
The
river,
as it
flows,
resembles the air that flows over it
;
the air resembles
the
light
that traverses it with more subtile
currents;
the
light
resembles the heat which rides with it
through
Space.
Each
rrp^tlTP
is
only-
a
Tno^ifip.ation
of the
oj^ZEj
the likeness in them is more than the
difference,
and their
radi^]
la
"mm nnd
jhrj-nmf
A rule of
one
art,
or a law of one
organization,
horns true
through
out nature. So intimate is this
Unity, that,
it is
easily
^^te__
-ii i , I, i i i%
j**-~+i*i*i
seen,
it lies under ihe undermost
garment
of
nature,
and
niversal
Spjrjt
For it
pervades
DISCIPLINE. 43
Thought
also.
Every
universal
truth jghicli WP.
in words
[replies
or
supposes
every
other
truth.
Omne
verum vero consonat. It is like a
ffceaL
circle
rm n
Tiphnre,
comprising
all
possible
circles
; which, however,
may
be
drawn,
and
comprise
it in like manner.
Every
such
truth is the absolute Ens seen from one side. But it
has innumerable sides.
The central
Unity
is still more
conspicuous
in actions.
Words are finite
organs
of
j.he
infinite mind.
They
can-
notcover the dimensions of what is in truth.
They
break,
chop,
and:
impoverish
it An action is the
perfec
tion and
publication
of
thought.
A
right actiqn,
seems to
fill the
eye,
and to be HatH
tn HI n^"^
"
The
wisfi.
man,
in
doing
one
thing,
does all
; or,
in the one
thing
f
Efrtlutij
iighllj,
hb sees the likeness of all which is done
rightly."
Words and actions are not the attributes of brute na
ture.
They
introduce us to the
human
form,
of which all
other
organizations
appear
to be
degradations.
When
this
appears among
so
many
that surround
it,
the
spirit
prefers
it to all others. It
says
:
"
From such as this
have I drawn
joy
and
knowledge
;
in such as this have I
found and beheld
myself
;
I will
speak
to it
;
it can
speak
again;
it can
yield
me
thought already
formed and
alive." In
fact,
the
eye
the mind is
always
accom
panied by
these
forms,
male and female
;
and these are
incomparably
the richest informations of the
power
and
order that lie at the heart of
things. Unfortunately,
every
one of them bears the marks as of some
injury
;
is marred and
superficially
defective.
Nevertheless,
far
different from the deaf and dumb nature around
them,
44 IDEALISM.
these all rest like
fountain-pipes
on the unfathomed sea
of
thought
and virtue whereto
they
alone,
of all
organ
izations,
are the entrances.
It were a
pleasant inquiry
to follow into detail their
ministry
to our
education,
but where would it
stop
? We
are associated in adolescent and adult life with some
friends, who,
like skies and
waters,
are coextensive with
our idea
;
who,
answering
each to a certain affection of
the
soul,
satisfy
our desire on that side
;
whom we lack
power
to
put
at such focal distance from
us,
that we can
mend or even
analyze
them. We cannot choose but love
them. When much intercourse with a friend has
sup
plied
us with a standard of
excellence,
and has increased
our
respect
for the resources of God who thus sends a
real
person
to
outgo
our ideal
;
when he
has, moreover,
become an
object
of
thought,
and,
whilst his character
retains all its unconscious
effect,
is converted in the
mind into solid and sweet
wisdom,
it is a
sign
to us
that his office is
closing,
and he is
commonly
withdrawn
from our
sight
in a short time.
CHAPTER
VI.
IDEALISM.
THUS is the
unspeakable
but
intelligible
and
practica
ble
meaning
of the world
conveyed
to
man,
the immortal
pupil,
in
every object
of sense. To this one end of Dis
cipline,
all
parts
of nature
conspire.
A noble doubt
perpetually suggests
itself,
whether
this end be not the Final Cause of the Universe
;
and
IDEALISM. 45
whether nature
outwardly
exists. It is a sufficient ac
count of that
Appearance
we call the
World,
that God
will teach a human
mind,
and so makes it the receiver of
a certain number of
congruent
sensations,
which we call
sun and
moon,
man and
woman,
house and trade. In
my
utter
impotence
to test the
authenticity
of the re
port
of
my
senses,
to know whether the
impressions
they
make on me
correspond
with
outlying objects,
what
difference does it
make,
whether Orion is
up
there in
heaven,
or some
god paints
the
image
in the firmament
of the soul ? The relations of
parts
and the end of the
whole
remaining
the
same,
what is the
difference,
whether
land and sea
interact,
and worlds revolve and
intermingle
without number or
end,
deep yawning
under
deep,
and
galaxy balancing galaxy, throughout
absolute
space,
or, whether,
without relations of time and
space,
the
same
appearances
are inscribed in the constant faith of
man? Whether nature
enjoy
a substantial existence
without,
or is
only
in the
apocalypse
of the
mind,
it is
alike useful and alike venerable to me. Be it what it
may,
it is ideal to
me,
so
long
as I cannot
try
the ac
curacy
of
my
senses.
The frivolous make themselves
merry
with the Ideal
theory,
as if its
consequences
were
burlesque
;
as if it
affected the
stability
of nature. It
surely
does not.
^-
j"
+
-
" ]
i
-^
11
nnti
^ompromise^
the
end of
nature,
by
permitting
any inconsequence
jnjts
procession. Joi# disiiustjpf
the
permanence
of laws
would
pnralyne
j]iefaculties
of
man.
Their
permanence
is
sacredly respecte^
and his faith therein is
perlect.
The wheels
anTTsprings
of man are all set to
tfre
bvpoth-
46 IDEALISM.
eJs_of
the
permanence
of nature. We are not built like
a
ship
to be
tossed,
but like a house to stand. It is a
natural
consequence
of this
structure, that,
sp^
long,
as
the active
powers
predominate
flyfir
film
T^prtivr,
we
i^aifit^with
indignation
any
hint that,
nature is
more
short-lived
or
muiaPie "than
spirit.
The
broKS^
the
wlTeel
wright,
the
carpenter,
the
toll-man,
are much dis
pleased
at the intimation.
But whilst we
acquiesce entirely
in the
permanence
of natural
laws,
the
question
of the absolute existence of
nature still remains
open.
It is the uniform effect of
culture on the human
mind,
not to shake our faith in
the
stability
of
particular phenomena,
as of
heat, water,
azote
;
but to lead us to
regard
nature as a
phenome
non,
not a substance
;
to attribute
necessary
existence
to
spirit;
to esteem nature as an accident and an ef
fect.
To the senses and the unrenewed
understanding
be
longs
a sort of instinctive belief in the
absoluuTsxI&tance
e^galUre. In
lht;ir Yinv,
mn nH "itvrft urn inrliiHu
hljjomed.
Things
are
ultimates,
and
they
never look
beyond
ttieir
sphere.
The
presence
of Reason mars
JJijs
faiJE! The first effort of
Iliuuglil
twids l6"TeIax this
despotism
of the
senses,
which binds us to nature as if
we were a
part
of
it,
and shows us nature
aloof, and,
as
it
were,
afloat. Until this
higher agency
intervened,
the
animal
eye
sees,
with wonderful
accuracy, sharp
outlines
and colored surfaces. When the
eye
of Reason
opens,
to outline and surface are at once added
grace
and
expression.
These
proceed
from
imagination
and affec
tion,
and abate somewhat of the
angular
distinctness of
IDEALISM. 47
objects.
If the Reason be stimulated to more earnest
vision,
outlines and surfaces become
transparent,
and are
no
longer
seen;
causes and
spirits
are seen
through
them. The best moments of life are these delicious
awakenings
of the
higher powers,
and the reverential
withdrawing
of nature before its God.
Let us
proceed
to indicate the effects of culture.
1. Our first institution in the Ideal
philosophy
is a
hint from Nature herself.
Xut.iir.e
is
nvidc
to
conspire
with
spirit
to
emancipate
us. Certain mechanical
changes^
a small alteration in
our local
position apprises
us of a dualism. We are
strangely
affected
by seeing
the shore from a
moving
ship,
from a
balloon,
or
through
the tints of an unusual
sky.
The least
change
in our
point
of view
gives
the
whole world a
pictorial
air. A man who seldom rides
needs
only
to
get
into a coach and traverse his own
town,
to turn the street into a
puppet-show.
The
men,
the
women,
talking, running, bartering, fighting,
the earnest
mechanic,
the
lounger,
the
beggar,
the
boys,
the
dogs,
are unrealized at
once,
or at least
wholly
de
tached from all relation to the
observer,
and seen as
apparent,
not substantial
beings.
What new
thoughts
are
suggested by seeing
a face of
country quite
familiar,
in the
rapid
movement of the railroad car!
Nay,
the
most wonted
objects (make
a
very slight change
in the
point
of
vision) please
us most. In a
camera-obscura,
the butcher s cart and the
figure
of one of our own
family
amuse us. So a
portrait
of a well-known face
gratifies
us. Turn the
eyes upside
down,
by looking
at
the
landscape through your legs,
and how
agreeable
is
48
IDEALISM.
the
picture,
though you
have seen it
any
time these
twenty years
!
In these
cases,
by
mechanical
means,
is
suggested
the
difference between the observer and the
spectacle,
be
tween man and nature. Hence arises a
pleasure
mixed
with awe
;
I
may say,
a low
degree
of the sublime is felt
from the
fact,
probably,
that man is
hereby apprised,
that,
whilst the world is a
spectacle,
something
in himself
is stable.
2. In a
higher
manner,
thejpoet
communicajes
the
samej^asim^
de]jD^tpSj
as
on
air,
tEe
sun,Jhe_jnoimj-arn
f
thR^aTnp^fhft. pity
jQp. hero,
tne
maiden,
not different from what we
knowjhem,
but
only
lifted trom the
ground
and afloat before the
eye.
He unfixes the land and the
sea,
makes them revolve
around the axis of his
primary thought,
and
disposes
them anew. Possessed himself
by
a heroic
passion,
he
uses matter as
symbols
of it. The sensual man
conforms
thoughts
to
things
;
the
poet
conforms
things
to his
thoughts.
The one esteems nature as rooted and fast
;
the
other,
as
fluid,
and
impresses
his
being
thereon. To
him,
the
refractory
world is ductile and flexible
;
he in
vests dust and stones with
humanity,
and makes them
the words of the Reason. The
imagination
may
be de
fined to
be,
the use which the Reason makes of the
material world.
Shakspeare possesses
the
power
of sub
ordinating
nature for the
purposes
of
expression, beyond
all
poets.
His
imperial
muse tosses the creation like a
bawble from hand to
hand,
and uses it to
embody any
caprice
of
thought
that is
uppermost
in his mind. The
remotest
spaces
of nature are
visited,
and the
farthest
IDEALISM. 49
sundered
things
are
brought together, by
a subtle
spirit
ual connection.
We are made aware that
magnitude
of
material
things
is
relative,
and all
objects
shrink and
expand
to serve the
passion
of the
poet.
Thus,
in his
sonnets,
the
lays
of
birds,
the scents and
dyes
of
flowers,
he finds to be the shadow of his beloved
; time,
which
keeps
her from
him,
is his chest
;
the
suspicion
she has
awakened is her ornament
;
The ornament of
beauty
is
Suspect,
A crow which flics in heaven s sweetest air.
His
passion
is not the fruit of chance
;
it
swells,
as he
speaks,
to a
city,
or a state.
No,
it was builded far from accident
;
It suffers not in
smiling pomp,
nor falls
Under the brow of
thralling
discontent
;
It fears not
policy,
that
heretic,
That works on leases of short numbered
hours,
But all alone stands
hugely politic.
In the
strength
of his
constancy,
the
Pyramids
seem
to him recent and
transitory.
The freshness of
youth
and love dazzles him with its resemblance to
morning.
Take those
lips away
Which so
sweetly
were forsworn
;
And those
eyes,
the break of
day,
Lights
that do mislead the morn.
The wild
beauty
of this
hyperbole,
I
may say,
in
passing,
it would not be
easy
to match in literature.
This
transfiguration
which all material
objects undergo
50 IDEALISM.
through
the
passion
of the
poet,
this
power
which he
exerts to dwarf the
great,
to
magnify
the
small,
might
be illustrated
by
a thousand
examples
from his
plays.
I
have before me the
Tempest,
and will cite
only
these few
lines.
ARIEL. The
strong
based
promontory
Have I made
shake,
and
by
the
spurs plucked up
The
pine
and cedar.
Prospero
calls for music to soothe the frantic
Alonzo,
and his
companions
;
A solemn
air,
and the best comforter
To an unsettled
fancy,
cure
thy
brains
Now
useless,
boiled within
thy
skull.
Again
;
The charm dissolves
apace,
And,
as the
morning
steals
upon
the
night,
Melting
the
darkness,
so their
rising
senses
Begin
to chase the
ignorant
fumes that mantle
Their clearer reason.
Their
understanding
Begins
to swell : and the
approaching
tide
"Will
shortly
fill the reasonable shores
That now lie foul and
muddy.
The
perception
of real affinities between events
(that
is
to
say,
of ideal
affinities,
for those
only
are
real)
enables
the
poet
thus to make free with the most
imposing
forms
and
phenomena
of the
world,
and to assert the
predomi
nance of the soul.
f~* 3. Whilst thus the
poet
animates nature with his own
|
thoughts,
he differs from the
philosopher only
herein,
Vlliat
the one
proposes Beauty
as his main end
;
the
other,
IDEALISM. 51
But the
philosopher,
not less than the
poet,
postpones
the
apparent
order and
relations
of
things
io
the
empire
of
thought.
"
The
problem
of
philosophy,"
according
to
Plato,
"
is,
for all that exists
conditionally,
to find a
ground
unconditioned and absolute." It
pro
ceeds on the faith that a law determines all
phenomena,
which
being
known,
the
phenomena
can be
predicted.
That
law,
when in the
mind,
is an idea. Its
beauty
is
infinite. The true
philosopher
and the true
poet
are
one,
and a beauty which is
truth,
and a
trutE_ wEjcF
is
beauty,
is the aim of both. Is not the charm of one of
Plato s or Aristotle s definitions
strictly
like that of the
Antigone
of
Sophocles?
It
is,
in both
cases,
that a
spiritual
life has been
imparted
to nature
;
that the solid
seeming
block of matter has been
pervaded
and dissolved
by
a
thought
;
that this feeble human
being
has
pene
trated the vast masses of nature with an
informing
soul,
and
recognized
itself in their
harmony,
that
is,
seized
their law. In
physics,
when this is
attained,
the
memory
disburdens itself of its cumbrous
catalogues
of
particu
lars,
and carries centuries of observation in a
single
for
mula.
Thus even in
physics,
the material is
degraded
before
the
spiritual.
The
astronomer,
the
geometer, rely
on
their
irrefragable analysis,
and disdain the results of ob
servation. The sublime remark of Euler on his law of
arches,
"
This will be found
contrary
to all
experience,
yet
is
true,"
had
already
transferred nature into the
mind,
and left matter like an outcast
corpse.
4. Intellectual science has
been__Qbserved to~beget
invariably
a doubt of the existence of matter.
Turgot
52
IDEALISM.
said,
"
He that has never doubted the existence of mat
ter
may
be assured he has no
aptitude
for
metaphysical
inquiries."
It fastens the attention
upon
immortal ne
cessary
uncreated
natures,
that
is,
upon
Ideas
;
and in
their
presence,
we feel that the outward
circumstance is
a dream and a shade. Whilst we wait in this
Olympus
of
gods,
we think of nature as an
appendix
to
t.hfi_snnl.
We ascend into their
region,
and know that these are
the
thoughts
of the
Supreme Being.
"
These are
they
who were set
up
from
everlasting,
from the
beginning,
or ever the earth was. When he
prepared
the
heavens,
they
were there
;
when he established the clouds
above,
when he
strengthened
the fountains of the
deep.
Then
they
were
by
him,
as one
brought up
with him. Of them
took he counsel."
Their influence is
proportionate.
As
objects
of
science,
they
are accessible to few men. Yet all men are
capable
of
being
raised
by piety
or
by passion
into their
region.
And no man touches these divine
natures,
without be
coming,
in some
degree,
himself divine. Like a new
soul,
they
renew the
body.
We become
physically
nim
ble and
lightsome
;
we tread on air
;
life is no
longer
irk
some,
and we think it will never be so. No man
fears
age
or misfortune or
death,
in their serene
company,
for
he is
transported
out of the district of
change.
Whilst
Wftjiftlmlri
iinvftilftd f.hft nnfnrp
pf
.Tngti
pA-B4.Trj]th,
WC
Wp
flip,
diffftrpnnft
M.wpp.n the absolute and the condi-
tionaL~or
relative.
We
apprehend
the absolute. As it
were,
for,the
first
time,
w# giriV... We
becomelmmortal,
for we learn that time and
space
are relations of
matter;
that,
with a
perception
of
truth,
or a virtuous
will,
they
have no
affinity.
IDEALISM. 53
5.
Finally, religion
and ethics which
may
be
fitly
called the
practice
of
ideas,
or the introduction o-4deas
mtolife have an
analogous
effect with all
lower cul
ture,
in
degrading
nature and
suggesting
its
dependence
on
spirit.
Ethics and
religion
differ herein
;
that the
one is the
system
of human duties
commencing
from
man;
the
other,
from
God._^
Religion
includes the
per
sonality
of God
;
Ethics does not.
They
are one to our
present design. They
both
put
natoire__uiider_Joot.
The
first and last lesson of
religion
is,
"
The
things
that are
seen,
are
temporal;
the
things
that a^
1insf
r^p|
njp
eter-^Y
nal/i
it
puts
an affront upon
nature.
It does that for^
the
unschooled,
which
philosophy
does for
Berkeley
and
Viasa. The uniform
language
that
may
be heard in the
churches of the most
ignorant
sects
is,
"
Contemn the
unsubstantial shows of the
world;
they
are
vanities,
dreams, shadows,
unrealities
;
seek the realities of
relig
ion." The devotee flouts nature. Some
theosophists
have arrived at a certain
hostility
and
indignation
to
wards
matter,
as the Manichean and Plotinus.
They
distrusted in themselves
any looking
back to these flesh-
pots
of
Egypt.
Plotinus was ashamed of his
body.
In
short,
they might
all
say
of
matter,
what Michel
Angelo
said of external
beauty,
"
It is the frail and
weary
weed,
in which God dresses the
soul,
which he has called into
time."
It
appears
that
motion.
poetry, physical
nnrl
iTijjplW.
tual
science,
and
religion, all tend to
affect our convic-
iOTS
of
tbe"TeaHiaJ)t
CETexternaTworld. But I own
there is
something
ungrateful
in
expanding
inn
pnrinasly
the
particulars
of the
general^^J^ojiUfin^haLall
culttww
54
IDEALISM.
tends to imbue us with
idealism.
I have no
hostility
to
nature,
but a child s love to it. I
expand
and live in
the wanK
day
lite corn and melons. Let us
speak
her fair. I do not wish to
fling
stones at
my
beautiful
mother,
nor soil
my gentle
nest. I
only
wish to
indicate
the true
position
of nature in
regard
to
man,
wherein to
establish
man,
all
right
education tends
;
as the
ground
which to attain is the
object
of human
life,
that
is,
of
man s connection with nature. Culture
inverts the vul
gar
views of
nature,
and
brings
the mind to
calljjiat
apparent,
which it uses to call
real,
and that
reaj^Jiich
it uses
to call
visioftry.
Children,
it is
true,
believe in
the external world. The belief that it
appears only,
is
an
afterthought,
but with
culture,
this faith will as
surely
arise on the mind as did the first.
The
advantage
of the ideal
theory
over the
popular
faith is
tluJTflial
It
presents
the world in
preciselyjhat
view which is most desirable tothe mind,
iris,
in
fact,
the view which
Reason,
both
speculative
and
practical.
that
is,
philosophy
and
virtue,
take.
For,
seen in the
light
of
thought,
the world
always
is
phenomenal
;
and
virtue subordinates it to the
miixd.
Idealism sees the
world in God. It beholds the whole circle of
persons
and
things,
of actions
anoevenis,
of
country
and
religion,
aq4.
as
"pamtullyaccumulated,
atom after
atom,
jict.
after
act,
in an
aged creeping
Past,
but as one vast
picture,
which God
paints
on the instant
eternity,
for the contem
plation
of the soul. Therefore the soul holds itself off
from a too trivial and
microscopic study
of the universal
tablet. It
respects
the end too
much,
to immerse itself
in the means. It sees
something
more
important
in
SPIRIT. 55
Christianity
than the scandals of ecclesiastical
history,
or
the niceties of criticism
; and,
very
incurious
concerning
persons
or
miracles,
and not at all disturbed
by
chasms
of historical
evidence,
it
accepts
from God the
phenome
non,
as it finds
it,
as the
pure
and awful form of
religion
in the world. It is not hot and
passionate
at the
appear
ance of what it calls its own
good
or bad
fortune,
at the
union or
opposition
of other
persons.
No man is its
enemy.
It
accepts
whatsoever
befalls,
as
part
of its les
son. It is a watcher more than a
doer,
and it is a
doer,
only
that it
may
the better watch.
CHAPTER VII.
SPIRIT.
IT is essential to a true
theory
of nature and of
man,
that it should contain somewhat
progressive.
Uses that
are exhausted or that
may
be,
and facts that end in the
statement,
cannot be all that is true of this brave
lodging
wherein man is
harbored,
and wherein all his faculties
find
appropriate
and endless exercise. And
^th
a
*mg
of nature admit of
beinff
summed in
one,
which
yields
the
activity of man an
infifflfa
scope. Through
all its
kingdoms,
to the
suburbs and outskirts of
things,
it is
faithful to the
cause whence it had its
origin.
Tfc
always
speaks
of
Spirit.
It
suggests
the
absolute. It is a
per
petual
enect. it is a
great
shaduW
p6lntmg
aiwgys
to
the sun "behind
us^
The
aspect
of nature is
devout.
T.j]^ {.fa
fjg
1lrp
of
Jesus,
she
stands with bended bead
r ai^ fronds
56 SPIRIT.
upon
the breast. The
happiest
man is he who learns
fm
at.nr
hp.
Of that ineffable essence which we call
Spirit,
he that
thinks most will
say
least. We can foresee God in the
coarse,
as it
were,
distant
phenomena
of matter
;
but
when we
try
to define and describe
himself,
both lan
guage
and
thought
desert
us,
and we are as
helpless
as
fools and
savages.
That essence refuses to be recorded
in
propositions,
but when man has
worshipped
him_
intel-
lectually,
the noblest
ministry
of nature is to stand as the
"apparition
ot
l
God. It is the
organ through
which the
universal
spirit speaks
to the
individual,
and strives to
lead back the individual to it.
When we consider
Spirit,
we see that the views
already
presented
do not include the whole circumference of man.
We must add some related
thoughts.
Three
problems
are tnit
by nature_+n
f^
ipmd:
What
these
questions only,
the ideal theory answers.
Idealism
saith : matter is It
plrenornp"\
not, &
snh^flnnp
Ideal
ism
acqiiamtS
Us witlTthe total
disparity
between the
evidence
^
niir
"
wn
fyi
n
fT-
^
* hft p.virlp.np.p.
of the
world s
being.
The one is
perfect
;
the
other,
incapable
of
any
assurance
;
the mind is a
part
of the nature of
things
;
the
-w^rlH i^
^
HHn?
rlrpnrn
from which we
may
.......
^certainties
of
lay.
Idealism^
is a
hypothesis
to
ap.ppinif, JQT
nature
by
other
if it
only deny
the existence of
matter,
it does not
satisfy
the demands of the
spirit.
It leaves God out of me. It
leaves me in the
splenetic}
labvrinth of
my perceptions,
to
SPIRIT. 57
wander without end. Then the heart resists
it,
because
it balks the affections in
denying
substantive
being
to
men and women. Nature is so
pervaded
with human
life,
that there is
something
of
humanity
in
all,
and in
every particular.
But this
theory
makes nature
foreign
to
me,
and does not account for that
consanguinity
which
we
acknowledge
to it.
Let it
stand, then,
in the
present
state of our knowl
edge, merely
as a useful
introductory hypothesis, serving
to
apprise
us of the eternal distinction between the soul
and the world.
But
when,
following
the invisible
steps
of
thought,
we
come to
inquire,
Whence is matter ? and Whereto ?
many
truths arise to us out of the recesses of consciousness.
We learn that the
highest
is
present
to the soul of
man,
that the dread universal
essence,
which is not
wisdom,
or
love,
or
beauty,
or
power,
but all in
one,
and each
entirely,
is that for which all
things
exist,
and that
by
which
they
are
;
that
spirit
creates
;
that behind
nature,
throughout
nature,
spirit
is
present
;
one and not com
pound,
it does not act
upon
us from
without,
that
is,
in
space
and
time,
but
spiritually,
or
through
ourselves:
therefore,
that
spirit,
that
is,
the
Supreme Being,
does
not build
up
nature around
us,
but
puts
it forth
through
us,
as the life of the tree
puts
forth new branches and
leaves
through
the
pores
of the old. As a
plant upon
the
earth,
so a man
rpctcvipo^
|Lo
Knc^m
^f^T^rl
;
ne js
nourished
by uufailing
tountains,
and
draws,
at his
need,
inexhaustible
power.
Who can set bounds to the
possi
bilities of man ? Once inhale the
upper
air,
being
ad
mitted to behold
the absolute natures of
justice
and
3*
58 SPIRIT.
truth,
and we learn that man has access to the entire
mind of the
Creator,
is himself the creator in the finite.
This
view,
which admonishes me where the sources of
wisdom and
power
lie,
and
points
to virtue as to
"The
golden key
"Which
opes
the
palace
of
eternity,"
carries
upon
its face the
highest
certificate of
truth,
be
cause it animates me to create
my
own world
through
the
purification
of
my
soul.
The
wm
jdnroceeds
from the same
spirit
as the
body
_pf man^
TtTr
n-j^m^i^
and,
inferior incarnation
"fiTflnd.
ajgrojectiou
of God in the unconscious. But it differs J
fmiSPnrijuJj
111 one
important respect.
It is
not,
like Nl
.that,
now
subjected
to the human will. Its serene order
is inviolable
by
us. It
is, therefore,
to
us,
tSeTprdisent
Expositor
of the divine
miad.
It is a
flfl
p
"*
w
tiomKy
we
may
measure our
departure.
As we
degenerate,
the
contrast between us and our house is more evident. We
are as much
strangers
in
nature,
as we are aliens from
God. We do not understand the notes of birds. The
fox and the deer run
away
from us
;
the bear and
tiger
rend us. We do not know the uses of more than a lew
plants,
as corn and the
apple,
the
potato
and the vine.
Is not the
landscape, every glimpse
of which hath a
gran
deur,
a face of him ? Yet this
may
show us what discord
is between man and
nature,
for
you
cannot
freely
admire
a noble
landscape,
if laborers are
digging
in the field
hard
by.
The
poet
finds
something
ridiculous in his de
light,
until he is out of the
sight
of men.
PEOSPECTS. 59
CHAPTER VIII.
PROSPECTS.
IN
inquiries respecting
the laws of the world and the
frame of
things,
the
highest
reason is
always
the truest.
That which seems
faintly possible,
it is so
refined,
is
often faint and dim because it is
deepest
seated in the
mind
among
the eternal verities.
.Empirical
science is
apt
to cloud the
sight,
and,
by
the
very knowledge
of func
tions and
processes,
to bereave the student of the
manly
contemplation
of the whole. The savant becomes un-
poetic.
But the best read naturalist who lends an entire
and devout attention to
truth,
will see that there remains
much to learn of his relation to the
world,
and that it is
not to be learned
by any
addition or subtraction or other
comparison
of known
quantities,
but is arrived at
by
un
taught
sallies of the
spirit, by
a continual
self-recovery,
and
by
entire
humility.
He will
perceive
that there are
far more excellent
qualities
in the student than
precise-
ness and
infallibility
;
that a
guess
is often
more fruitful
than an
indisputable
affirmation,
and that a dream
may
let us
deeper
into the secret of nature than a hundred
concerted
experiments.
For,
the
problems
to be solved are
precisely
those
which the
physiologist
and the naturalist omit to state.
It is not so
pertinent
to man to know all the individuals
of the animal
kingdom,
as it is to know whence and
whereto is this
tyrannizing unity
in his
constitution,
which
evermore
separates
and classifies
things, endeavoring
to
reduce the most
diverse to one form.
When I behold
60
PROSPECTS.
a rich
landscape,
it is less to
my purpose
to recite cor
rectly
the order and
superposition
of the
strata,
than to
know
why
all
thought
of multitude is lost in a
tranquil
sense of
unity.
I cannot
greatly
honor minuteness in
details,
so
long
as there is no hint to
explain
the relation
between
things
and
thoughts
;
no
ray upon
the Meta
physics
of
conchology,
of
botany,
of the
arts,
to show the
relation of the forms of
flowers, shells, animals,
architec
ture,
to the
mind,
and build science
upon
ideas. In a
cabinet of natural
history,
we become sensible of a cer
tain occult
recognition
and
sympathy
in
regard
to the
most
unwieldy
and eccentric forms of
beast, fish,
and in
sect. The American who has been
confined,
in his own
country,
to the
sight
of
buildings designed
after
foreign
models,
is
surprised
on
entering
York Minster or St.
Peter s at
Rome,
by
the
feeling
that these structures are
imitations
also,
faint
copies
of an invisible
archetype.
Nor has science sufficient
humanity,
so
long
as the nat
uralist overlooks that wonderful
congruity
which subsists
between man and the
world;
of which he is
lord,
not
because he is the most subtile
inhabitant,
but because
he is its head and
heart,
and finds
something
of himself
in
every great
and small
thing,
in
every
mountain stra
tum,
in
every
new law of
color,
fact of
astronomy,
or
atmospheric
influence which observation or
analysis lay
open.
A
perception
of this
mystery inspires
the muse of
George Herbert,
the beautiful
psalmist
of the seventeenth
century.
The
following
lines are
part
of his little
poem
on Man :
"
Man is all
symmetry,
Full of
proportions,
one limb to
another,
PROSPECTS. 61
And all to all the world besides.
Each
part may
call the
farthest,
brother
;
For head with foot hath
private amity,
And both with moons and tides.
"
Nothing
hath
got
so far
But man hath
caught
and
kept
it as his
prey
;
His
eyes
dismount the
highest
star
;
He is in little all the
sphere.
Herbs
gladly
cure our
flesh,
because
that
they
Find their
acquaintance
there.
"
For
us,
the winds do
blow,
The earth doth
rest,
heaven
move,
and fountains flow
;
Nothing
we
see,
but means our
good,
As our
delight,
or as our treasure
;
The whole is either our
cupboard
of
food,
Or cabinet of
pleasure.
"
The stars have us to bed :
Night
draws the curtain
;
which the sun withdraws.
Music and
light
attend our head.
All
things
unto our flesh are
kind,
In their descent and
being
;
to our
mind,
In their ascent and cause.
He treads down that which doth befriend him
When sickness makes him
pale
and wan.
mighty
love ! Man is one
world,
and hath
Another to attend him."
The
perception
of this class of truths makes the at
traction which draws men to
science,
but the end is lost
62 PROSPECTS.
sight
of in attention to the means. In view of this half-
sight
of
science,
we
accept
the sentence of
Plato, that,
)oetry
comes nearer
to
vifol
t.rnth,
than
history."
m^ion
of the mind isenTltled to
a certain
respect,
and we leatu.4o
prefer
imperfect_theo-
nes,
and sentences, which co
n + g i"
ff ^p
jfi
r>f
tynti^
to
digested systems
which have no one
A wise writer will feel that the ends of
study
and com
position
are best answered
by announcing
undiscovered
regions
of
thought,
and so
communicating, through hope,
new
activity
to the
torpid spirit.
I shall therefore conclude this
essay
with some tradi
tions of man and
nature,
which a certain
poet sang
to
me
;
and
which,
as
they
have
always
been in the
world,
and
perhaps reappear
to
every
bard,
may
be both
history
and
prophecy.
"
The foundations of man are not in
matter,
but in
spirit.
But the element of
spirit
is
eternity.
To
it,
there
fore,
the
longest
series of
events,
the oldest
chronologies,
are
young
and recent. In the
cycle
of the universal
man,
from whom the known individuals
proceed,
centuries are
points,
and all
history
is but the
epoch
of one
degrada
tion.
"
We distrust and
deny inwardly
our
sympathy
with
nature. We own and disown our relation to
it,
by
turns.
We
are,
like
Nebuchadnezzar, dethroned,
bereft of rea
son,
and
eating grass
like an ox. But who can set limits
to the remedial force of
spirit
?
"
A man is a
god
in ruins. When men are
innocent,
life shall be
longer,
and shall
pass
into the
immortal,
as
gently
as we awake from dreams.
Now,
the world
PROSPECTS. 63
would be insane and
rabid,
if these
disorganizations
should last for hundreds of
years.
It is
kept
in check
by
death and
infancy. Infancy
is the
perpetual
Messiah,
which comes into the arms of fallen
men,
and
pleads
with them to return to
paradise.
"Man is the dwarf of himself. Once he was
per
meated and dissolved
by spirit.
He filled nature with
his
overflowing
currents. Out from him
sprang
the sun
and moon
;
from
man,
the sun
;
from
woman,
the moon.
The laws of his
mind,
the
periods
of his
actions,
exter-
nized themselves into
day
and
night,
into the
year
and the seasons.
But,
having
made for himself this
huge
shell,
his waters
retired;
he no
longer
fills the
veins and veinlets
;
he is shrunk to a
drop.
He sees that
the structure still fits
him,
but fits him
colossally. Say,
rather,
once it fitted
him,
now it
corresponds
to him
from far and on
high.
He adores
timidly
his own work.
Now is man the follower of the
sun,
and woman the
follower of the moon. Yet sometimes he starts in his
slumber,
and wonders at himself and his
house,
and
muses
strangely
at the resemblance betwixt him and it.
He
perceives
that if his law is still
paramount,
if still
he have elemental
power,
if his word is
sterling yet
in
nature,
it is not conscious
power,
it is not inferior but
superior
to his will. It is Instinct." Thus
my Orphic
poet sang.
At
present,
man
applies
to nature but half his force.
He works on the world with his
understanding
alone.
He lives in
it,
and masters it
by
a
penny-wisdom
;
and
tie that works most in
it,
is but a
half-man, and,
whilst
nis arms are
strong
and his
digestion good,
his mind is
64 PROSPECTS.
imbruted,
and lie is a selfish
savage.
His relation to
nature,
his
power
over
it,
is
through
the
understanding
:
as,
by
manure
;
the economic use of
fire, wind, water,
and the mariner s needle
; steam, coal,
chemical
agricul
ture
;
the
repairs
of the human
body by
the dentist and
the
surgeon.
This is such a
resumption
of
power,
as if
a banished
king
should
buy
his territories inch
by
inch,
instead of
vaulting
at once into his throne.
Meantime,
in the thick
darkness,
there are not
wanting gleams
of a
better
light,
occasional
examples
of the action of m-an
upon
nature with his entire
force,
with reason as
well as
understanding.
Such
examples
are : the tradi
tions of miracles in the earliest
antiquity
of all nations
;
the
history
of Jesus Christ
;
the achievements of a
prin
ciple,
as in
religious
and
political
revolutions,
and in
the abolition
of the Slave-trade
;
the miracles of enthu
siasm,
as those
reported
of
Swedenborg,
Hohenlohe,
and
the Shakers
; many
obscure and
yet
contested
facts,
now
arranged
under the name of Animal
Magnetism
;
prayer
;
eloquence
; self-healing
;
and the wisdom of children.
These are
examples
of Reason s
momentary grasp
of the
sceptre
;
the exertions
of a
power
which exists not in
time or
space,
but an instantaneous
in-streaming causing
power.
The difference between the actual and the ideal
force of man is
happily figured by
the
schoolmen,
in
saying,
that the
knowledge
of man is an
evening
knowl
edge, veKpertina cognitio,
but that of God is a
morning
knowledge,
matutina
cognitio.
The
problem
of
restoring
to the world
original
and
eternal
beauty
is solved
by
the
redemption
of the soul.
The ruin or the
blank,
that we see when we look at
PROSPECTS. 65
nature,
is in our own
eye.
The axis of vision is not co
incident
with the axis of
things,
and so
they appear
not
transparent
but
opaque.
The reason
whytheworld
lacks
unity,
and lies broken and in
neans> is. J)ecause
lan is disunited with mmself. He cannot be a natural-
Tst,
until ne satisnes an
ujr.
nrmmnr
or nnr
ipuir
| jm
r
is as much its
demand,
as
perception. Indeed,
neither
can be
ptil
i buL wllllUUl the otaer. In the uttermost
meaning
6f the
words,
thought
is
devout,
and devotion
is
thought. Deep
calls unto
deep.
But in actual
life,
the
marriage
is not celebrated. There are innocent men
who
worship
God after the tradition of their
fathers,
but
their sense of
duty
has not
yet
extended to the use of all
their faculties. And there are
patient
naturalists,
but
they
freeze their
subject
under the
wintry light
of the
understanding.
Is not
prayer
also a
study
of
truth,
a
sally
of the soul into the unfound infinite ? No man
ever
prayed heartily,
without
learning something.
But
when a faithful
thinker,
resolute to detach
every object
from
personal
relations,
and see it in the
light
of
thought,
shall,
at the same
time,
kindle science with the fire of
the holiest
affections,
then will God
go
forth anew into
the creation.
It will not
need,
when the mind is
prepared
for
study,
to search for
objects.
The invariable mark of wisdom is
to see the miraculous in the common. What is a
day
?
What is a
year
? What is summer ? What is woman ?
What is a child ? What is
sleep
? To our
blindness,
these
things
seem
unaffecting.
We make fables to hide
the baldness of the fact and conform
it,
as we
say,
to
the
higher
law of the mind. But when the fact is seen
66 PHOSPECTS.
under the
light
of an
idea,
the
gaudy
fable fades and
shrivels. We behold the real
higher
law. To the
wise,
therefore,
a__fact
is true
poetry,
and the most beautiful
of fables. These wonders are
brought
to our own door.
You also are a man. Man and
woman,
and their social
life,
poverty,
labor,
sleep,
fear, fortune,
are known to
you.
Learn that none of these
things
is
superficial,
but
that each
phenomenon
has its roots in the faculties and
affections of the mind. Whilst the abstract
question
occupies your
intellect,
nature
brings
it in the concrete
to be solved
by your
hands. It were a wise
inquiry
for
the
closet,
to
compare, point by point, especially
at
remarkable crises in
life,
our
daily history,
with the rise
and
progress
of ideas in the mind.
So shall
.we
come to look at the world with new
eyes.
It shall answer ihe endless
inquiry
of the mlellutt
1
,
What is truth ? and of the
affections,
What is
good
?
by yielding
itself
passive
to the educated Will. Then
shall come to
pass
what
my poet
said :
"
Nature is not
fixed but fluid.
Spirit
alters, moulds,
makes it. The
immobility
or bruteness of
nature,
is the absence of
spirit;
to
pure spirit,
it is
fluid,
it is
volatile,
it is obe
dient.
Every spirit
builds itself a house
;
and
beyond
its
house a world
;
and
beyond
its world a heaven. Know
then,
that the world exists for
you.
Tor
you
is the
phe
nomenon
perfect.
What we
are,
that
only
can we see.
All that Adam
had,
all that Csesar
could,
you
have and
can do. Adam called his
house,
heaven and earth
;
Csesar called his
house,
Rome
;
you perhaps
call
yours,
a cobbler s trade
;
a hundred acres of
ploughed
land
;
or
a scholar s
garret.
Yet line for line and
point
for
point,
PROSPECTS.
67
your
dominion is as
great
as
theirs,
though
without fino
names.
Build, therefore,
your
own world. As fast as
you
conform
your
life to the
pure
idea in
your
mind,
that
will unfold its
great proportions.
A
correspondent
revo
lution in
things
will attend the influx of the
spirit.
So
fast will
disagreeable appearances,
swine,
spiders,
snakes,
pests,
mad-houses,
prisons,
enemies,
vanish
;
they
are tem
porary
and shall be no more seen. The sordor and filths
of
nature,
the sun shall
dry up,
and the wind exhale. As
when the summer comes from the
south,
the snow-banks
melt,
and the face of the earth becomes
green
before
it,
so shall the
advancing spirit
create its ornaments
along
its
path,
and
carry
with it the
beauty
it
visits,
and the
song
which enchants it
;
it shall draw beautiful
faces,
warm
hearts,
wise
discourse,
and heroic
acts,
around its
way,
until evil is no more seen. The
kingdom
of man
over
nature,
which cometh not with
observation,
a do
minion such as now is
beyond
his dream of
God,
he
shall enter without more wonder than the blind man feels
who is
gradually
restored to
perfect sight.
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
AN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE PHI BETA KAPPA
SOCIETY,
AT
CAMBRIDGE,
AUGUST
31,
1837.
THE AMEEICAN
SCHOLAR.
MB,. PRESIDENT
AND GENTLEMEN :
I
greet
you
on the re-commencement of our
literar^
year.
Our
anniversary
is one of
hope,
and,
perhaps,
not
enough
of labor. We do not meet for
games
of
strength
or
skill,
for the recitation of
histories,
tragedies,
and
odes,
like the ancient Greeks
;
for
parliaments
of love
and
poesy,
like the Troubadours
;
nor for the advance
ment of
science,
like our
contemporaries
in the British
and
European capitals.
Thus
far,
our
holiday
has been
simply
a
friendly sign
of the survival of the love of let
ters
amongst
a
people
too
busy
to
give
to letters
any
more. As
such,
it is
precious
as the
sign
of an inde
structible instinct.
Perhaps
the time is
already
come,
when it
ought
to
be,
and will
be,
something
else
;
when-
the
sluggard
intellect of this continent will look from
under its iron
lids,
and fill the
postponed expectation
of
the world with
something
better than the
exertions>^f
mechanical skill. Our
day
of
dependence,
our
long apJ
prenticeship
to the
learning
of other
lands,
draws toal
close. The
millions,
that around us are
rushing
into
7
life,
cannot
always
be fed on the sere remains of
foreign
harvests.
Events, actions, arise,
that must be
sung,
that
will
sing
themselves. Who can
doubt,
that
poetry
will
72 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
revive and lead in a new
age,
as the star in the
constella
tion
Harp,
which now flames in our
zenith,
astronomers
announce,
shall one
day
be the
pole-star
for a thousand
years
?
In this
hope,
I
accept
the
topic
which not
only usage,
but the nature of our
association,
seem to
prescribe
to
this
day,
the AMERICAN SCHOLAR. Year
by year,
we
come
up
hither to read one more
chapter
of his
biogra
phy.
Let us
inquire
what
light
new
days
and events
have thrown on his
character,
and his
hopes.
It is one of those
fables, which,
out of an
unknown
antiquity, convey
an unlooked-for
wisdom,
that the
gods,
in the
beginning,
divided Man into
men,
that he
might
be more
helpful
to
himself;
just
as the hand was divided
into
fingers,
the better to answer its end.
The old fable covers a doctrine ever new and sublime
;
that there is One
Man,
present
to all
particular
men
only partially,
or
through
one
faculty;
and that
you
must take the whole
society
to find the whole man.
Ipan
is not a
farmer,
or a
professor,
or an
engineer,
but
Ilie
is_all.
Man is
priest,
and
scholar,
and
statesman,
and
producer,
and soldier. In the divided or social
state,
these functions are
parcelled
out to
individuals,
each of
whom aims to do his stint of the
joint
work,
wl^lst
each
Bother
performs
his. The fable
implies,
that the mdi-1
vidual,
to
possess
himself,
must sometimes return froml
his own labor to embrace all the other
laborers^
But
unfortunately,
this
original
unit,
this fountain of
power,
Las been so distributed to
multitudes,
has been so mi
nutely
subdivided and
peddled
out,
that it is
spilled
into
drops,
and cannot be
gathered.
The state of
society
is\
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 73
one in which the members
have
suffered
ampliation
from
f.^pTf.mnl ,
and strut about so
many walking
monsters,
a
good finger,
a
neck,
a
stomach,
an
elbow,
but never a
man.
Man is thus
metamorphosed
into a
thing,
into
many
things.
The
planf.ej^jyho
is
Man_senJ^ont-JntQ
the field
to
gather
food,
is seldom cheered
by
any
idea of the
true
dignity
of his
ministry.
He sees his bushel and
EiTciirL,
Hlld
nothing beyond,
and sinks into the
farmer,
inst.p.a.rj_nf
Ma.n
n^
thjgjgrm.
The tradesman
scarcely
ever
gives
an ideal worth to his
work,
but is ridden
by
the routine of his
craft,
and the soul is
subject
to dol
lars. The
priest
becomes a form
;
the
attorney,
a statute-
book
;
the
mechanic,
a machine
;
the
sailor,
a
rope
of a
ship.
In^this
distribution of
function^,
the apholav jq the
delegated
intellect. In the
right
state,
he is Man
Thinking,
in tiie
degenerate State,
when the victim of
society,
Ire tends to become- -a mere
thinker, or,
still
worse,
the
parrot
of other men s
thinking.
as Ma*1
Thinking,
the
theorv_of
his office is contained. Him .Nat
placid, all her monitory
pictures
: him
him the future,
jpvjt.ps.
Is
not, indeed,
every
man a
student,
and do not all
things
exist for the student s be
hoof?
And,
finally,
is not the true scholar the
only
true
master ? But the old oracle said :
"
All
things
have two
handles : beware of the
wrong
one." In
life,
too
often,
the scholar errs with mankind and forfeits his
privilege.
Let us see him in his
school,
and consider him in refer
ence to the main influences he receives.
4
74 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
I. The first in time and the first in
importance
of^the
influences
upon
the
jnmdjsjjiat
of
jnajrir^
Everyday,
Unesun; and,
after
sunset,
night
and her stars. Ever
the winds blow
;
ever the
grass grows. Every day,
men
and
women,
conversing, beholding
and beholden. The
snlml^i
s IIP
pF
all
r^pn
whom
f,]ij s S
pflptap1p.
mr>si
en-
_gags.
He must settle its
valuejnjiii^nind.
What is
nature tolnm ? There is
never a
beginning,
there is
never an
end,
to the
inexplicable continuity
of this web
of
Godj
tfirnilwas circular
poweTTBtLU
lmiiu:
into itselT.
ereiiit resembles his own
spirit,
whose
beginning.
whose
ending,
he
never can
find^
so
entire,
so bound-
Icss.
Ear, too,
as her
splendors
shine,
system
on
system
Tffiootirig
like
rays, upward,
downward,
without
centre,
without
circumference,
in the mass and in the
particle,
nature hastens to render account of herself to the mind.
Classification
begins.
To the
young
mind,
everything
is
individual,
stands
by
itself.
By
and
by,
it finds how to
join
two
things,
and see in them one nature
;
then
three,
then three thousand
;
and so
tyrannized
over
by
its own
unifying
instinct,
it
goes
on
tying things together,
dimin
ishing
anomalies,
discovering
roots
running
under
ground,
whereby contrary
and remote
things
cohere,
and flower
out from one stem. It
presently
learns, that,
since the
dawn of
history,
there has been a constant accumulation
and
classifying
of facts. But
what,
is
nlas^ification^but
the_erceiying
that these
objects
are,
not
.chaotic,
and are
h
v
R.
S Taw wSch..is also a law
of the
li 11
ma
r>
min^?
The astronomer discovers that
geometry,
a
pure
abstraction of the human
mind,
is the measure of
planetary
motion. The chemist finds
proportions
and
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
75
intelligible
method
throughout
matter;
and science is
nothing
but the
finding
of
analogy, identity
in the most
remote
parts.
The ambitious soul sits down before each
refractory
fact
;
one after
another,
reduces all
strange
constitutions,
all new
powers,
to their class and their
law,
and
goes
on forever to animate the last fibre of
organi
zation,
the outskirts of
nature,
by insight.
Thus to
him,
to this
school-boy
under the
bending
dome of
day,
is
suggested,
that he and it
proceed
from
one root
;
one is leaf and one is flower
; relation,
sym
pathy, stirring
in
every
vein. And what is
t
f
ha.t TEnnt
?
Is not that the soul of his soul ? A
thought
too
bold,
a dream too wild. Yet when this
spiritual lighfT
shall
have revealed the law of more
earthly
natures,
when
he has learned to
worship
the
soul,
and to see that the
natural
philosophy
that now
is,
is
only
the first
gropings
of its
gigantic
hand,
he shall look forward to an ever-ex
panding knowledge
as to a
becoming
creator. He shall
see, that
Tjat.nrp. js
jjip
nppnaifr,
rf
the
soul,
answering
to it"
part
for
part.
Oiie..is.sp-a1|
"d
"IIP, is
prij
1 *
Its
beauty
is the
beauty
of his own mind. Its laws are the laws of
his own
mind,
lSFa.tnrp.
|,hpn hp.pnmes
to him the measure
oFhis attainments. So much of nature as he is
igno
rant of,
so
much of his own mind does he not
yetjaossess.
And,
in
fine,
the ancient
precept,
"
J^ntrtyHkky
Q^I
f
*
and
the modern
precept,
"
Study nature/
become at last one
maxim.
76
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR,
inscribed. Books are the best type of the influence of
7
-**
. * vf
., ,
the_past
f-ftnd
perhap&jEe
shall
fiet
at the
truth,
learn
the amount ofthis influence more
conveniently, by
considering
The theory of books is
nohla.
The scholar of the
first
age -received
into him the world around
;
brooded
thereon ;
gave
it the new
arrangement
of his own
mind,
and
utterejHt_agajn.
It came into
him,
life
;
it went out
from
him,
truth. It came to
him,
short-lived actions
;
it
went out from
him,
immortal
thoughts.
It came to
him,
business
;
it went from
him,
poetry.
It
was__dsad_^ct
;
now,
it is
quick thought.
It can
stand,
and it can
go.
It" now
endures,
it now
flies,
it now
inspires. Precisely
in
proportion
to the
depth
of mind from which it
issued,
so
high
does it
soar,
so
long
does it
sing.
Or,
I
might say,
it
depends
on how far the
process,
had
gone,
of
transmitting
liTeinto truth. In
prpportion_to
the
completeness
of the distillation,
so will the
^purity
flf^,impm
nhnh1pii?M
ifth*
f^i^t
fr
But none is
quite perfect.
As no
air-pump
can
by any
means make
a
perfect
vacuum,
so neither can
any artist entirely
ex
clude the
conventional,
the
local,the
perishable
from his
book,
or write a
book,
of
pure
thought,
that
shaJL-he.
as
efficient,
in all
respects,
to a remote
posterity,
as to-gon-
tehrporaries^or
r
nthpr
1iQ thf
Sft
nd
frg
p-
H^chae^e.
it is
foumi,
must write its own books
; or, rather,
each
gener
ation for
^hTlielcrsu^cTelTrig!^
The books of an older
period
will not fit this.
Yet hence arises a
grave
mischief. The sacredness
which attaches to the act of creation
the act of
thought
is transferred to the record.
The
poet
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 77
chanting,
was felt to be a divine man: henceforth the
chant is divine also. The writer was a
just
and wise
spirit
: henceforward
it is
settled,
the book is
perfect
;
as love of the hero
corrupts
into
worship
of his statue.
Instantly,
the book becomes noxious: the
guide
is a
tyrant.
The
sluggish
and
perverted
mind of the multi
tude,
slow
trju^uju
le-4hg^Ln^ursions
ot
ftftasnry
having
so
"npftnftHj having
once received this book, stands
it. arid makes
auTfiifcry,
ifTris._disparaged
T Col-
H.i n. IniiU mi
Ttr"^^n]cs_airft
writtftTi on
ilhy
think.
ers,
not
by
Man
ThmTong; by
men of
talent,
that
is,
who
^
"start
wroiigpwho
set out from
accepted dogmas,
not from
their own
sight
of
principles.
Meek
young
men
grow
up
in
libraries,
believing
it their
duty
to
accept
the views
which
Cicero,
which
Locke,
which
Bacon,
have
given,
forgetful
that
Cicero, Locke,
and Bacon were
only young
men in
libraries,
when
they
wrote these books.
.
___
Hence,
instead of Man
Thinking^
we..hay.e.jtlifi_
hook,
_worm. HenceTHieTiook-learned class,
who value
book%
assuch
;
not as related to nature and the human consti.
tution,
but as
making
a sort of Third Estate with the
world and the soul.
Hence,
the restorers of
readings,
the
emendators,
the bibliomaniacs of all
degrees.
Books are the best of
tjnngs^
wpll
muxi^- abused,
the worst. What is the riht use ? What is the
one
end,
whichall means
go
to effect?
They
are for
nothing
but to
inspire.
I had better never see a
book,
than to be
warped by
its attraction clean out of
my
own
orbit,
and made a satellite instead of a
system.
The one
thing
in the
world,
of
value,
is the active
sou],
Tins
eVmji
iiuiris~entitled to
;
this
every
man contains within
78 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
him,
although,
in almost all
men, obstructed,
and as
yet
unborn. The
^"
1
apt
1 ^ CQQC
i
afapliitp.
truth and utters
trjajji^jiL-Iiieak^.
In
this_
action
it^Js
genius
;
not the AI
p
rivWp
pf
frprg
qnd
tlTfirea
favorite^
but
the"sound_jL,
Tn its
essence,
it
ispregressive
.
The
bqnk^
the
nollege.
the
snlmnl of
grt,
the institution
of
any
killd^
stop
-naili
nnm^pa4
nttpran^
nf-gpeiuns
This is
good, say they,
let us hold
by
this.
They
pin
me down.
They
look backward and not forward. JBut
the
eyes
of man are set in his
forehead,
not in his hindhead
;
man
hopes
;
genius
cre
ates. Whatever talents
may
be,
if
inr r>f
the
Deity
is not his
;
cinders and smoke
there
may
be,
but not
yet
flame. There are creative
manners,
there are creative actions and creative words
;
manners, actions, words,
that
is,
indicative of no custom
or
authority,
but
springing spontaneous
from the mind s
own sense of
good
and fair.
On the other
part,
instead of
being
its own
seer,
let it
receive from another mind its
truth,
though
it were in
torrents of
light,
without
periods
of
solitude,
inquest,
and
self-recovery,
and a fatal disservice is done. Genius
is
always sufficiently
the
enemy
of
gen
hi n
by
fWTriin.flii
e*iice. The literature of
every
nation bear me witness.
TTieTTJlnglish
dramatic
poets
have
Shakspearized
now for
two hundred
years.
Undoubtedly
there is a
right way
of
reading,
so it be
sternly
subordinated. Man
Thinking
must not be sub- \i
dned
by
hjs
instruments
^
Tlnnk^
arfOor
thejscholar
sTy
idle times.
Wheji^Jie^jiatt--jad_God^(directly
the hour
is too
precious
to be wasted in other men s
transcripts
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 79
of their
readings.
But when the intervals of darkness
come,
as come
they
must,
when the sun is
hid,
and the
stars withdraw their
shining,
we
repair
to
tlie^lainjjs
which were kindled
by
their
rnj
x
H_j2iidp
rrni*
ntppi
to
We
hear,
that we
may speak.
The Arabian
proverb says,
"A
fig-tree,
looking
on a
fig-tree,
be-"ometh fruitful."
It is
remarkable,
the character of the
pleasure
we
derive from the best
bcoks.
They impress
us with the
conviction,
that one nature
wrote,
and the same reads.
We read the verses of me of the
great English poets,
of
Chaucer,
of
Marvell,
rf
Dryden,
with the most mod
ern
joy,
with a
pleasure,
I
mean,
which is in
great
part
caused
by
the abstraction of all time from their
verses. There is some awe mixed with the
joy
of our
surprise,
when this
poet,
who lived in some
past
world,
two or three hundred
years ago, says
that which lies
close to
my
own
soul,
that which I also had
wellnigh
thought
and said. But /or tne evidence thence afforded
to the
philosophical
doctrine
of the
identity
of all
minds,
we should
suppose
some
pre-established harmony,
some
foresight
of souls that were to
be,
and some
preparation
of stores for their future v
ants,
like the fact observed in
insects,
who
lay up
food before death for the
young grub
they
shall never see.
I would not be hurried
f
jy any
love of
system, by any
exaggeration
of
instincts,
to underrate the Book. We all
know, that,
as the human
ljdy
can be nourished on
any
food,
though
it were boiled
grass
and the broth of
shoes,
so the human mind can be fed
by any
fyiowledge.
And
great
and heroic men have,
existed,
who had almost no
80 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
other information than
by
the
printed page.
I
only
would
say,
that it needs a
strong
head to bear that diet.
Ope
must he
anJnvej^QrjQ_iea,(Lffill.
As the
proverb
says,
"
He that would
bring
home the wealth of the
Indies,
must
carry
out the wealth of the Indies." There
is then
fr^jvP.
r^ing
aa vfi]l
as
nrp.fljjvft
writing.
When the mind is
braced, by
labor and invention, the
pajgcT ofjyfiatflYfir
bo
n1f WP
JgaO
..becomes
luminous with
manifold allusion.
Every
sentence is
doubly significant,
and the sense of our author is as broad as the world.
We then
see,
what is
always
orue, that,
as the seer s
hour of vision is short and rar
among heavy days
and
months,
so is its
record,
perchance,
the least
part
of
his volume. The
discerning
will
read,
in his Plato or
Shakspeare, only
that least
pa
-t,
only
the authentic
utterances of the oracle
;
all the rest he
rejects,
were it
never so
many
times Plato s and
fihakspeare
s.
Of
course,
there is a
portion
oV
reading quite indispen
sable to a wise man.
History
a id exact science he must
learn
by
laborious
reading. Colleges,
in like
manner,
have their
indispensable
office.,
-
to teach elements.
But
they canjjnly -highly
serve
us,
when
they
aim not to
drill,
but to create
;
when
the; gather
from far
every ray
of various
genius
to their
hospitable
halls, and,
by
the
concentrated
fires,
set the hearts of their
youth
on flame.
Thought
and
knowledge
are L -attires
in which
apparatus
and
pretension
avail
nothing.
Gowns,
and
pecuniary
foundations,
though
of towns-
.;
of
gold,
can never counter
vail the least sentence or
syllable
of wit.
Forget
this,
and our American
colleges
will
recede in their
public
importance,
whilst
they grow
richer
every year.
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 81
III. There
goes
in the
wojrikj_ji_jQi}j^n^,.that_
the
scholar
should be a
recluse,
a
valetudinarian,
as unfit
for
any
handiwork or
public
labor,
as a
penknife
for an
axe. The so-called
"
practical
men
"
sneer at
speculative
TVIOTI
|
QC
if,
KananaP
fliPj ppP^ukte
Or
Sgg, tilCY COU^l do
qnthmgir
I have heard it said that the
clergy
who
are
always,
more
universally
than
any
other
class,
the
scholars of their
day
are addressed as
women;
that
the
rough, spontaneous
conversation of men
they
do
not
hear,
but
only
a
mincing
and diluted
speech. They
are often
virtually
disfranchised ; and, indeed,
there are
advocates for their
celibacy.
As far as this is true of
the studious
classes,
it is not
just
and wise. Action is
with the scholar
subordinate,
but it is essential. With
out
it,
he is not
yet
man. Without
it,
thought
can never
ripen
into truth. Whilst the world
hangs
before the
eye
as a cloud of
beauty,
we cannot even see its
beauty.
Inaction is
cowardice,
but there can be no scholar with
out the heroic mind.
The
preamble
of
thought,
the
transition
through
which it
passes
from the unconscious
to the
conscious,
is action.
Only
so much do I
know,
as I have lived.
Instantly
we know whose words are
loaded with
life,
and whose not.
The
world this shadow of the
soul, or
other
lies wide
around.
Its^^attracjtiausuare
the
unlock
my thoughts
and make me
acquainted
with
myself.
I run
eagerly
into this
resounding
^JMnlf,,
J
grasp
the
hands of those next
me,
and take
my place
in the
ring
to
suffer
and to
work,
taught by
an
instinct,
that so shall
the
dumb
abyss
be vocal with
speech.
I
pierce
its
order;
I
dissipate
its
fear;
I
dispose
of it within the
4*
F
tw<i
***** *-.-r
^
J {>"
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
circuit of
my expanding
life.
So_mucli pnly
r>f
I know
by experience,
so much of the wilderness have I
vanquished
and
planted,
or so iar haV^ I BxEencted
my
being,
my
dominion. I do not see
hojL-any
moH ean
afford,
for the sake of his nerves and his
napj.Jto spare
Tn winch he can
partake.
It is
pearls
arrtl
tion, want,
are instructors in
eloquence
and wisdom.
The true scholar
grud
past by,
as a loss of
power.
It is the rawmaterial ou
of which the intellect moulds her
splendidproducts.
A
rrrrm-r
prnrrjjfi
ton.
Ihi
lij
uliidi
nrpnrifnrrTi
TTin
verted
mtothought,
as a
mulberry
leaf is converted into
saluT. The iiiaiillfUeLure
goes
forward at all hours.
The actions and events of our childhood and
youth
are
now matters of calmest observation.
They
lie like fair
pictures
in the air. Not so with our recent
actions,
with the business which we now have in hand. On this
we are
quite
unable to
speculate.
Our affections as
yet
circulate
through
it. We no more feel or know
it,
than
we feel the
feet,
or the
hand,
or the brain of our
body.
The new deed is
yet
a
part
of
life,
remains for a time
immersed in our unconscious life. In some
contempla
tive
hour,
it detaches itself from the life like a
ripe
fruit,
to become a
thought
of the mind.
Instantly,
it is
raised,
transfigured;
the
corruptible
has
put
on
incorruption.
Henceforth it is an
object
of
beauty,
however base its
origin
and
neighborhood.
Observe, too,
the
impossibility
of
antedating
this act. In its
grub
state,
it cannot
fly,
it
cannot
shine,
it is a dull
grub.
But
suddenly,
without
observation,
the selfsame
thing
unfurls beautiful
wings,
THE AMERICAN
SCHOLAR. 83
and is an
angel
of wisdom. So is there no
fact,
no
event,
in our
private
history,
whip.h
sfrall
noT;
sooner or
later,
lose its
adhesive,
inert
form,
and astonish
us
hy snaring
from our
body
into the
empyrean.
Cradle and
infancy,
school and
play-ground,
the tear of
boys,
and
dogs,
and
ferules,
the love of little maids and
berries,
and
many
another fact that once filled the whole
sky,
are
gone
already
;
friend and
relative,
profession
and
party,
town
and
country,
nation and
world,
must also soar and
sing.
Of
course,
he who has
put
forth his total
strength
in
fit actions has the richest return of wisdom. I will not
shut
myself
out of this
globe
of
action,
and
transplant
an oak into a
flower-pot,
there to
hunger
and
pine
;
nor
trust the revenue of some
single faculty,
and exhaust one
vein of
thought,
much like those
Savoyards,
who,
get
ting
their livelihood
by carving shepherds, shepherdesses,
and
smoking
Dutchmen,
for all
Europe,
went out one
day
to the mountain to find
stock,
and discovered that
they
had whittled
up
the last of their
pine-trees.
Authors
we
have,
in
numbers,
who have written out their vein,
and
who,
moved
by
a commendable
prudence,
sail for
Greece or
Palestine,
follow the
trapper
into the
prairie,
or ramble round
Algiers,
to
replenish
their merchantable
stock.
If it were
only
for a
vocabulary,
the scholar would be
covetous of action,
jjife
is our
dictionary. Yearsare^
well
spent
in country labo
TPS and manufactures
;
in
frajlfc intp.rnnmsa,
with
in science
;
in art
;
to the one
jich
ly
our
perceptions.
I learn imme-
84 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
diately
from
any speaker
Low much he has
already
lived,
through
the
poverty
or the
splendor
of his
speech.
Life
lies behind us as the
quarry
from whence we
get
tiles and
cope-stones
for the
masonry
of
to-day.
This is the
way
to learn
grammar. Colleges
and books
only copy
the
language
which the field and the
work-yard
made.
But the
fjnal
Yfllm*
qf pftifvn,
like that of
books,
and
better than
books, is,
that it is a resource. That
great
principle
of Undulation in
nature,
that shows itself in the
inspiring
and
expiring
of the breath
;
in desire and sa
tiety
;
in the ebb and flow of the sea
;
in
day
and
night
;
in heat and cold
;
and as
yet
more
deeply ingrained
in
every
atom and
every
fluid,
is known to us under the
name of
Polarity,
these
"
fits of
easy
transmission and
reflection,"
as Newton called
them,
are the law of na
ture because
they
are the law of
spirit.
The mind
now__thi)j1n
\
now
nrtn
;
anf*
panl1 fif
>p
y
o-
duces the otlierT When the artist has exbanstfid
HJR
ma-
tefedsrwireii
the
fancy
no
longer jmmts,
when
thoughts
areTTo
longer
apprehended,
and
books_are_a-SEfiariness,
he has
always
UuTresource to live. Character is
higher
than intellect.
Thinking
is the function
1
Tiving
i>
thp
functionary^
The stream retreats to its source. A
great
soul will be
strong
to
live,
as well as
strong
to think.
Does he lack
organ
or medium to
impart
his truths ?
He can still fall back on this elemental force of
living
them. This is a total act.
Thinking
is a
partial
act.
Let the
grandeur
of
justice
shine in his affairs. Let the
beauty
of affection cheer his
lowly
roof. Those "far
from
fame,"
who dwell and act with
him,
will feel the
force of his constitution in the
doings
and
passages
of
AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 85
the
day
better than it can be measured
by any public
and
designed display.
Time shall teach him that the scholar
loses no hour which the man lives. Herein he unfolds
the sacred
germ
of his
instinct,
screened from influence.
What is lost in seemliness is
gained
in
strength.
Not
out of
those,
on whom
systems
of education have ex
hausted their
culture,
comes the
helpful giant
to
destroy
the old or to build the
new,
but out of unhaudselled sav
age
nature,
out of terrible Druids and
Berserkirs,
come at
last Alfred and
Shakspeare.
I hear
therefore
with
j^y
^w^or. j a
Tipgi n^j^g
fr>
be
said of
fhRjjiomity
and
nenfissity
of labor to
every
citizen,
in thr hnr mrl thr
npndnj
fnr
Irirnqj,
as
well
as
for unlearned bands. And labor is
everywhere
welcome
;
always
we are invited to work
;
only
be this
limitation
observed,
that a man shall not for the sake of
wider
activity
sacrifice
any opinion
to the
popular judg
ments and modes of action.
I have now
spoken
of the education of the scholar
by
nature,
by
fjo
oks,
and
by
action. It remains to
say
some-
what of his duties.
Thex^vn
minh m
bpfnrr|f^JVra.n
Thinking
They may
all be
compriflefl
in
gplf.tyigf
The o
is to
cheer,
to
raise,
and to
guide
men
by showing
them
facts amTcfst
appearances.
He
plies
the
slow,
unhon-
orod,
and
unpaid
task of observation. Flamsteed and
Herschel,
in their
glazed
observatories,
may catalogue
the stars with the
praise
of all
men, and,
the results
being splendid
and
useful,
honor is sure. But
he,
in his
private observatory, cataloguing
obscure and nebulous
86 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
stars of the human
mind,
which as
yet
no man has
ihougfit
of as
such,
watching days
and
months,
some
times,
for a few facts
;
correcting
still his old
records,
must
relinquish display
and immediate fame. In the
long period
of his
preparation,
he must
betray
often an
ignorance
and shiftlessness in
popular
arts,
incurring
the
disdain of the able who shoulder him aside.
Long
he
must stammer in his
speech
;
often
forego
the
living
for
the dead. Worse
yet,
hejnust
accept
how often !
poverty
ar| d
snlityrlp.
"For the
ease
and
pleasure
of
treading
the old
road, accepting
the
fashions,
theedu ca-
tion. the religion of society he takes
thp
r.rn^_pf
mak
ing
bis
own, and,
of
course,
the
self-accusation,
the faint
heart, J;he
frequent
^Tiflprtamtv
and loss of
time,
wiiich
are the nettles and
tangling
vines in the
way
of the self-
relying
and
self-directed;
and the state of virtual hos
tility
in which he seems to stand to
society,
and
espe
cially
to educated
society.
For all this loss and
scorn,
what offset ? He is to find consolation in
exercising
the
He Is "onewho
_
raises himself from
private
considerations,
and breathes
and lives on
public
and illustrious
thoughts.
He isthe
world s
eye.
He is the world s Heart. He is to resist
the
1
vulgar prosperity
that
retrogrades
ever to
barbarism,
by preserving
and
communicating
heroic
sentiments,
uoble
biographies,
melodious
verse,
and the conclusions
of
history.
Whatsoever oracles the human
heart,
in
all
emergencies,
in all solemn
hours,
has uttered as its
commentary
on the world of
actions,
these he shall
receive and
impart.
And whatsoever new
vj
son from her inviolable seat
pronounces
or
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 87
men and
events_o
to-day.
this he
shall
hear and
pro
mulgate.
These
being
his
functions,
it becomes him to feel all
confidence in
himself,
and to defer never to the
popular
cry.
He and he
rmlvkrinws the world.
The world
jpf
any
moment is the meresLamifiajance.
Some
great
deco
rum,
some fetish of a
gf/vernment,
some
ephemeral
trade,
or
war,
or
man,
is cried
up by
half mankind and cried
down
by
the other
half,
as if all
depended
on this
partic
ular
up
or down. The odds are that the whole
question
is not worth the
poorest thought
which the scholar has
lost in
listening
to the
controversy.
Let him not
quit
his
belief that a
popgun
is a
popgun, though
the ancient and
honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom.
In
silence,
in
steadiness,
in severe
abstraction,
let him
hold
by
himself;
add observation to
observation,
patient
of
neglect, patient
of
reproach
;
and bide his own
time,
happy enough,
if he can
satisfy
himself
alone,
that this
day
he has seen
something truly.
Success treads on
every right step.
For the instinct is
sure,
that
prompts
him to tell his brother what he thinks. He then learns,
that in
going
down into the secrets of his own
mind,
he
has descended into the secrets of all minds. He learns
that he who has mastered
any
law in his
private thoughts
is master to that extent of all men whose
language
he
speaks,
and of all into whose
language
his own can be
translated.
XliH*^^>*UUiitersolitude
remembering,
his
^njiiiiiiMiii
HIM
ihiiu^hts
andiecuidlll^
tllttin,
isTound to
juties
find true
for
th^mjilsg^Che
orator_distrusts
at
firsTthe fitness of
"his frank
confessions,
his want
bPEnowIeTTge
of the
55 THE AMERICAN
SCHOLAR.
persons
he
addresses,
until he
fir^t
s
th^ ]}*
is
*V
nn.
plement
of his hearers
;
that
they
drink his
words because
lie fulfils lor theTn "ttieir own nature
;
the
deeper
he dives
into his
privatest,
secretest
presentiment,
to his
wonder
he
finds,
this is the most
acceptable,
most
public,
and
universally
true. The
people delight
in
it;
the better
part
of
every
man
feels,
This is
my
music
;
this is
my
self.
Ii^-SfJl-kilfilL^lI.
the virtues
jTe^cojnprehended.
Frge
should the scholar
be,
free and
braie.
Free even
to
the definition of
freedom,
"without
any
hindrance that
does not arise out of his own constitution." Brave
;
for
fear is a
thing
which a scholar
by
his
very
function
puts
behind him,
Eear
always springs
from
ignorance.
It is
a shame to him^ii^hls
trscnquillity,
amid
dangerous times,
arise from the
presumption,
that,
like children and wo
men,
his is a
protected
class
;
or if he seek a
temporary
peace by
the diversion of his
thoughts
from
politics
or
vexed
questions, hiding
his head like an ostrich in the
flowering
bushes,
peeping
into
microscopes,
and
turning
rhymes,
as a
boy
whistles to
keep
his
courage up.
So is
the
danger
a
danger
still
;
so is the fear worse. Manlike
let him turn and face it. Let him look into its
eye
arid
search its
nature,
inspect
its
origin,
see the
whelping
of this
lion,
which lies no
great way
back
;
he will
then find in himself a
perfect comprehension
of its nature
and
extent;
he will have made his hands meet on the
other
side,
and can henceforth
defy
it,
and
pass
on su
perior.
The world is
his,
who can see
through
its
pre
tension. What
deafness,
what stone-blind
custom,
what
overgrown
error
you
behold,
is there
only by sufferance.
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 89
by your
sufferance. See it to be a
lie,
and
you
have
already
dealt it its mortal blow.
Yes,
we are the
cowed,
we the trustless. It is a
mischievous notion that we are come late into nature
;
that the world was finished a
long
time
ago.
As the
world was
plastic
and fluid in the hands of
God,
so it is
ever to so much of his attributes as we
bring
to it. To
ignorance
and
sin,
it is flint.
They adapt
themselves to
it as
they may
;
but in
proportion
as a man has
anything
in him
divine,
the firmament flows before him and takes
his
signet
and form. Not he is
great
who can alter mat
ter,
but he who can alter
my
state of mind.
They
are
the
kings
of the world who
give
the color of their
present
thought
to all nature and all
art,
and
persuade
men
by
the cheerful
serenity
of their
carrying
the
matter,
that
this
thing
which
they
do,
is the
apple
which the
ages
have desired to
pluck,
now at last
ripe,
and
inviting
na
tions to the harvest. The
great
man makes the
great
thing.
Wherever Macdonald
sits,
there is the head of
the table. Linnaeus makes
botany
the most
alluring
of.
studies,
and wins it from the farmer and the herb-wo
man
;
Davy, chemistry
;
and
Cuvier,
fossils. The
day
is
always
his,
who works in it with
serenity
and
great
aims.
The unstable estimates of men crowd to him whose mind
is filled with a
truth,
as the
heaped
waves of the Atlantic
follow the moon.
For this
self-trust,
the reason is
deeper
than can be
fathomed,
darker than can be
enlightened.
I
might
not
carry
with me the
feeling
of
my
audience in
stating
my
own belief. But I have
already
shown the
ground
of
my hope,
in
adverting
to the doctrine that man is one.
90 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAE.
I believe man has been
wronged
;
he has
wronged
him
self. He has almost lost the
light,
that can lead him
back to his
prerogatives.
Men are become of no account.
Men in
history,
men in the world of
to-day
are
bugs,
are
spawn,
and are called
"
the mass
"
and
"
the herd." In
a
century,
in a
millennium,
one or two men
;
that is to
say,
one or two
approximations
to the
right
state of
every
man. All the rest behold in the hero or the
poet
their own
green
and crude
being, ripened
;
yes,
and
are content to be
less,
so that
may
attain to its full stat
ure. What a
testimony,
full of
grandeur,
full of
pity,
is borne to the demands of his own
nature,
by
the
poor
clansman,
the
poor partisan,
who
rejoices
in the
glory
of
his chief. The
poor
and the low find some amends to
their immense moral
capacity,
for their
acquiescence
in a
political
and social
inferiority. TVjiarp
p"nt
n
nt t* be
frnm
f|)f
paf^
nf?T
frrpat person,
sn
that
justice
shall be done
by
him to that common nature which
dfnrpfit fjftm rp of
all t
n spp
^^r^
and
glorified.
They
sun themselves in the
great
man s
light,
and feel it
to be their own element.
They
cast ilie
dignity
of man
from their down-trod selves
upon
the shoulders of a
hero,
and will
perish
to add one
drop
of blood to make that
great
heart
beat,
those
giant
sinews combat and
conquer.
He lives for
us,
and we live in him.
Men such as
they
are,
very naturally
seek
money
or
power
;
and
power
because it is as
good
as
money,
the
"
spoils,"
so
called,
"
of office." And
why
not ? for
they
aspire
to the
highest,
and
this,
in their
sleep-walking,
they
dream is
highest.
Wake
them,
and
they
shall
quit
the false
good,
and
leap
to the
true,
and leave
govern-
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 91
ments to clerks and desks. This revolution is to be
wrought by
the
gradual
domestication of the idea of Cul
ture. The
nmin__enterprise
of the
world_for splendo^
for
extent,
isjj^
iiplvmTflmfl
nt n^nr-jn Here are the mate
rials strown
along
the
ground.
The
private
life of one
man shall be a more illustrious
monarchy,
more formi
dable to its
enemy,
more sweet and serene in its influence
to its
friend,
than
any kingdom
in
history.
For a
man,
rightly
viewed,
comprehendeth
the
particular
natures of
all men. Each
philosopher,
each
bard,
each
actor,
has
only
done for
me,
as
by
a
delegate,
what one
day
I can
do for
myself.
The books which once we valued more
than the
apple
of the
eye,
we have
quite
exhausted.
What is that but
saying,
that we have come
up
with the
point
of view which the universal mind took
through
the
eyes
of one scribe
;
we have been that
man,
and have
passed
on.
First,
one
; then,
another
;
we drain all cis
terns, and,
waxing greater by
all these
supplies,
we crave
a better and more abundant food. The man has never
lived that can feed us ever. The human mind cannot be
enshrined in a
person,
who shall set a barrier on
any
one
side to this
unbounded,
unboundable
empire.
It is one
central
fire, which,
flaming
now out of the
lips
of
Etna,
lightens
the
capes
of
Sicily
; and,
now out of the throat
of
Vesuvius,
illuminates the towers and
vineyards
of Na
ples.
It is one
light
which beams out of a thousand stars.
It
is one soul which animates all men.
But I have dwelt
perhaps tediously upon
this abstrac
tion of the Scholar. I
ought
not to
delay longer
to add
what I have to
say,
of nearer reference to the time and to
this
country.
92 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
Historically,
there is
thought
to be a difference in the
ideas which
predominate
over successive
epochs,
and
there are data for
marking
the
genius
of the
Classic,
of
the
Romantic,
and now of the Reflective or
Philosophical
age.
With the views I have intimated of the oneness or
the
identity
of the mind
through
all
individuals,
I do not
much dwell on these differences. In
fact,
I believe each
individual
passes through
all three. The
boy
is a Greek
;
the
youth, romantic;
the
adult,
reflective. I
deny
not,
however,
that a revolution in the
leading
idea
may
be
distinctly enough
traced.
^Ui* flu**
* g
^"^y^ilprl ^
s
thfi
a(
T
R
of Introversion. Must
that needs
fy
p.vil ? _
We,it seems,
are critical
;
wlT are
gjmJ2fl
|]T
p
CCgrl wi fli nn.nind tln^nnrl.tg
.
We CaiUlOt
CHJOy aiiy-
thing
for
hankering
to know
whereoLihp^^
Q
fl
1TJ^nrm -
sistsj
we are lined with
eyes
;
we see with our feet
;
the
time is infected with Hamlet s
unhappiness,
"
Sicklied o er with the
pale
cast of
thought."
Is it so bad then ?
Sight
is the last
thing
to be
pitied.
Would we be blind ? Do we fear lest we should outsee
nature and
God,
and drink truth
dry
? I look
uponjbe
discontent of the
literary
class,
as a mere announcement
of the
fact,
that
they
Hud themselves not in the state of
mindof their
fithprij
nndirgrpli
th
flpmivg
fT?
7^
ii"-
tftecQ
as a
boy
dreads the water before he has learned
that he can swim. If there is
any period
one would de
sire to be born
in,
is it not the
age
of "Revolution
;
when the old and the new stand side
by
si3ej"ancj,
admit
of
being
compared
;
when the
energies
of all men are
searched
by
fear and
by hope
;
when the historic
glories
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 93
of the old can be
compensated by
the rich
possibilities
of
the new era ? This
time,
like all
times,
is a
very good
one,
if we but know what to do with it.
I read with
joy
some of the
auspicious signs
of the
coming days,
as
they glimmer already through poetry
and
art,
through philosophy
and
science,
through
church and
state.
One of these
signs
is the
fact,
that the same movernent
which effected the elevation of what was
class in the state assumed in literature a
very
marked and
as
benign
an
aspect.
Inslyad oT tlie sublime and beauti-
poetized. Tha^which
had been
negligently
trodden
under root
by
those
who,
werejiarnessirig
andjyro.ffjsioningr
themselves for
long journeys
into far
countries,
is... .sud
denly^
found lobe richer than all
foreign parts.
The
lit-^
erature-of- ihe
"prior
feelings__pj
phy
of the
street,
the
meaning
of.
the rjhiloso-
torilftfl Pf the
trid
life*,
are the
r-w*
sign
is it not ? of new
vigor^jwhen
the
extrermtiesjm^nade
active,
when currents of warm
lifpjnjm
infont^tr-hwidq and
the feet. I ask not for the
great,
tlie
remote,
the roman
tic
;
what is
doing
in
Italy
or Arabia
;
what is Greek
art,
or
Provenpal
minstrelsy
;
I embrace the
common,
I ex
plore
and sit at the feet
oH^4iyttiIiaj,
thrrtoyT
Give
me
insight
into
to-day,
and
you may
have the
antique
and
future worlds. What would we
really
know the
meaning
of ? The meal in the firkin
;
the milk in the
pan
;
the
ballad in the street
;
the news of the boat
;
the
glance
of
the
eye
;
the form and the
gait
of the
body
;
show me
the ultimate reason of these matters
;
show me the sub-
94 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAE.
lime
presence
of the
highest spiritual
cause
lurking,
as
always
it does
lurk,
in these suburbs and extremities of
nature
;
let me see
every
trifle
bristling
with the
polarity
that
ranges
it
instantly
on an eternal law
;
and the
shop,
the
plough,
and the
ledger,
.referred to the like cause
by
which
light
undulates and
poets sing
;
and
thejworldjies
no
longer
a dull
miscellany
and
lumber-room,
but has
form and order
;
there is no trifle
;
there is no
puzzle
;
but one
design
unites and animates the farthest
pinnacle
and the lowest trench.
This idea has
inspired
the
genius
of
Goldsmith, Burns,
Cowper,
and,
in a newer
time,
of
Goethe, Wordsworth,
and
Carlyle.
This idea
they
have
differently
followed
and with various success. In contrast with their writ
ing,
the
style
of
Pope,
of
Johnson,
of
Gibbon,
looks cold
and
pedantic.
This
writing
is blood-warm. Man is sur
prised
to find that
things
near are not less beautiful and
wondrous than
things
remote. The near
explains
the
far. The
drop
is a small ocean. A man is related to all
nature. This
perception
of the worth of the
vulgar
is
fruitful in discoveries.
Goethe,
in this
very thing
the
most modern of the
moderns,
has shown
us,
as none ever
did,
the
genius
of the ancients.
There is
one-man
of^mus
JjwJiQ.]ias.4oiie
much for
this
philosophy
ofjife,, whose
literary
value-kas-never
yet
been
rightly
estimated;
I mean Emanuel
Swedenborg.
The most
imaginative
of
men,
yet writing
with the
pre
cision of a
mathematician,
he endeavored to
ingraft
a
purely philosophical
Ethics on the
popular
Christianity
of his time. Such an
attempt,
of
course,
must have diffi
culty,
which no
genius
could surmount. But he saw and
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR. 95
showed the connection between nature and the affections
of the
stail.
He
pierced
the emblematic or
spiritual
char
acter of the
!
visible, audible,
tangible
world.
Especially
did his
shade-loving
muse hover over and"
interpret
the
lower
parts
of nature
;
he showed the
mysterious
bond
that allies moral evil to the foul material
forms,
and has
given
in
epical parables
a
theory
of
insanity,
of
beasts,
of
unclean and fearful
things.
Another sign of our times, also jnackeeHrr-air anal
ogous political
movement,
is the new
importance given
to
the
single person! Everything
that tends to insulate
the
jndixidtt^i
to surround him with barriers of natural
respect,
so that each man sliaUfeel the world as
his,
and
Tnnn
*}}$]]
1 1 nil nilh 111 111 mi a
inTr^fP
1 "t ate with a
sovereign
state tends to true union as well as
great
ness.
"
I
learned,
^""scrid the
melancholy
Pestalnzzi,
no man in God s wide earth is either
willing
or
able to
help any
other man."
Help
must come from the
bosom alone. The scholar is that man who must take
up
into himself all the
ability
of the
time,
all the con
tributions of the
past,
all the
hopes
of the future. He
must be an
university
of
knowledges.
If there be one
lesson more than
another,
which should
pierce
his
ear,
it
is : The world is
nothing,
the man is all
;
in
yourself
is
the law of all
nature,
and
you
know not
yet
how a
globule
of
sap
ascends
;
in
yourself
slumbers the whole
of Reason
;
it is for
you
to know
all,
it is for
you
to
dare all. Mr. President and
Gentlemen,
this confidence
in the unsearched
might
of man
belongs, by
all
motives,
by
all
prophecy, by
all
preparation,
to the American
Scholar. We have listened too
long
to the
courtly
96 THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
muses of
Europe.
The
spirit
of the American freeman
is
already suspected
to be
timicl, imitative,
tame. Pub
lic and
private
avarice make the air weTreathe thick
and fat. The scholar is
decent, indolent,
complaisant.
See
already
the
tragic consequence.
The mind of this
country, taught
to aim at low
objects,
eats
upon
itself.
There is no work for
any
but the decorous and the com
plaisant. Young
men of the fairest
promise,
who
begin
life
upon
our
shores,
inflated
by
the mountain
winds,
shined
upon by
all the stars of
God,
find the earth below
not in unison with
these,
but are hindered from action
by
the
disgust
which the
principles
on which business is
managed inspire,
and turn
drudges,
or die of
disgust,
some of them suicides. What is the
remedy
?
They
did
not
yet
see,
and thousands of
young
men as
hopeful
now
crowding
to the barriers for the
career,
do not
yet
see,
that if the
single
man
plant
himself
indomitably
on his
instincts,
and there
abide,
the
huge
world will come
round to him.
Patience,
patience
;
with the shades
of all the
good
and
great
for
company
;
and for
solace,
the
perspective
of
your
own infinite life
;
and for
work,
the
study
and the communication of
principles,
the mak
ing
those instincts
prevalent,
the conversion of the world.
Is it not the chief
disgrace
in the
world,
not to be an
unit
;
not to be reckoned one character
;
not to
yield
that
peculiar
fruit which each man was created to
bear,
but to be reckoned in the
gross,
in the
hundred,
or the
thousand,
of the
party,
the
section,
to which we
belong
;
and our
opinion predicted geographically,
as the
north,
or the south ? Not
so,
brothers
and
friends,
please
God,
ours shall not be so. We will walk on our
THE AMERICAN SCHOLAR.
97
own feet
;
we will work with our own hands
;
we wil?
speak
our own minds. The
study
of letters shall be no
longer
a name for
pity,
for
doubt,
and for sensual in
dulgence.
The dread of man and the love of man shall
be a wall of defence and a wreath of
joy
around
all.^^A,
nation of men will for the first time
exist,
because each
belteVea lillimulf
imwlrad
by
the Divine Soui which also
inspires
all men.
AN
ADDRESS.
DELIVERED BEFORE THE SENIOR CLASS IN
DIVINITY COL-
LEGE,
CAMBRIDGE,
SUNDAY
EVENING,
JULY
15,
1838.
ADDEESS.
,
IN this
refulgent
summer it has been a
luxury
to draw
the breath of life. The
grass grows,
the buds
burst,
the
meadow is
spotted
with fire and
gold
in the tint of
flowers. The air is full of
birds,
and sweet with the
breath
of the
pine,
the
balm-of-Gilead,
and the new
hay.
Night brings
no
gloom
to the heart with its welcome
shade.
Through
the
transparent
darkness the stars
pour
their almost
spiritual rays.
Man under them seems a
young
child,
and his
huge globe
a
toy.
The cool
night
bathes the world as with a
river,
and
prepares
his
eyes
again
for the crimson dawn. The
mystery
of nature
was never
displayed
more
happily.
The corn and the
wine have been
freely
dealt to all
creatures,
and the
never-broken silence with which the old
bounty goes
for
ward has not
yielded yet
one word of
explanation.
One
is constrained to
respect
the
perfection
of this
world,
in
which our senses converse. How wide
;
how rich
;
what
invitation from
every property
it
gives
to
every faculty
of man ! In its fruitful soils
;
in its
navigable
sea
;
in
its mountains of metal and stone
;
in its forests of all
woods
;
in its animals
;
in its chemical
ingredients
;
in
the
powers
and
path
of
light,
heat, attraction,
and
life,
it
is well worth the
pith
and heart of
great
men to subdue
102
ADDRESS.
and
enjoy
it. The
planters,
the
mechanics,
the invent
ors,
the
astronomers,
the builders of
cities,
and the
cap
tains,
history delights
to honor.
But when the mind
opens,
and reveals the laws which
traverse the
universe,
and make
things
what
they
are,
then shrinks the
great
world at once into a mere illustra
tion and fable of this mind. What am I ? and What is ?
asks the human
spirit
with a
curiosity
new-kindled,
but
never to be
quenched.
Behold these
outrunning
laws,
which our
imperfect apprehension
can see tend this
way
and
that,
but not come full circle. Behold these infinite
relations,
so
like,
so unlike
;
many, yel
one": f~would
study,
1 would
know,
I would admire forever. These
works of
thought
have been the entertainments of the
human
spirit
in all
ages.
A more
secret, sweet,
and
overpowering beauty ap
pears
to man when his heart and mind
open
to the
sentiment of virtue. Then he is instructed in what is
above him. He learns that his
being
is without bound
;
that,
to the
good,
to the
perfect,
he is
born,
low as he
now lies in evil and weakness. That which he venerates
is still his
own,
though
he has not realized it
yet.
He
ought.
He knows the sense of that
grand
word,
though
his
analysis
fails
entirely
to render account of it.
^Jjfiji
in
innocencv,
or
when,
by
intellectual
perception,
he
attains to
say,
"
I love the
Riflht
: Truth is beautiful
within and without
1 {Wverm^re. Virtue,
I^amJ^njie
;
aave jne
: use me : thee will I
serve,
day and
night,
in
greatjn
small,
jjiat
I
may
be
nQtjdr^
1
""^]!^^"^/
then is the end of the creation
answered,
andGod is
well
pleased.
,
ADDRESS. 103
The sentiment of virtue
j
s p
revprpnpa.
anrL.dfVligM
in
the
presence
of certain divine laws. It
perceives
that
this
homely game
of life we
play
covers,
under what
seem foolish
details,
principles
that astonish. The child
amidst his bawbles is
learning
the action of
light,
motion,
gravity,
muscular force
;
and in the
game
of human
life,
love, fear,
justice, appetite,
man,
and
God,
interact.
These laws refuse to be
adequately
stated.
They
will
not be written out on
paper,
or
spoken by
the
tongue.
They
elude our
persevering thought
;
yet
we read them
hourly
in each other s
faces,
in each other s
actions,
in
our own remorse. The moral traits which are all
globed
into
every
virtuous acu and
thought,
in
speech,
we
must
sever,
and describe or
suggest by painful
enumer
ation of
many particulars.
Yet,
as this sentiment is the
essence of all
religion,
let me
guide your eye
to the
precise objects
of the
sentiment,
by
an enumeration of
some of those classes of facts in which this element is
conspicuous.
The intuition of the moral sentiment
is
flp
insight
of
therjerfection
of
the
l
aw nf
thfi
griLLL
These laws
execute themselves.
They
are out of
time,
out of
space,
and not
subject
to circumstanceT Tlius
;
in the soul of
man there is a
justice
whose retributions are instant
and entire. He who does a
^ooct
deed,
is
jn^frnt.ly
en
nobled.
^Le
who does a mean
deed,
is
by
the action
itself contracted. He who
puts
off
impurity, thereby
puts
on
purity.
If a man is at heart
just,
then in so far
is he God
;
the safety of Go"d.
the
immprtflHty
^Hnrl
the
nmjpfif-.y
nf ftnd,. rln
qnf.ftf j]ito
thai.
TY^
wiili
justice.
If a man
dissemble, deceive,
he deceives
himself,
and
104
ADDRESS.
goes
out of
acquaintance
with his own
being.
A man in
the view of absolute
goodness, adores,
with total humil
ity. Every step
so downward is a
step upward.
The
man who renounces
himself,
comes to himself.
See how this
rapid
intrinsic
energy
worketh
every
where,
righting wrongs, correcting appearances,
and
bringing up
facts to a
harmony
with
thoughts.
Its
operation
in
life,
though
slow to the
senses, is,
at
last,
as
sure as in the soul.
By
it,
a man is made the Providence
to
himself,
dispensing good
to his
goodness,
and evil to
his sin. Character is
always
known. Thefts never en
rich
;
alms never
impoverish ;
murder will
speak
out of
stone walls. The least admixture of a lie for
example,
the taint of
vanity,
the least
attempt
to make a
good
im
pression,
a favorable
appearance
will
instantly
vitiate
the effect. But
speak
the
truth,
andall nature and all
spirits help
you
witli
unexpected"
lurtlierance.
Speak
{fie
truth,
and all
things
alive or brute are
vouchers,
and the
very
roots of the
grass underground
there do seem to
,
stir and move to bear
you
witness. See
again
the
per
fection of the Law as it
applies
itself to the
affections,
and becomes the law of
society.
As we
are,
so we asso
ciate. The
good, by affinity,
seek the
good
;
the
vile,
by
affinity,
the vile. Thus of their own
volition,
souls
pro
ceed into
heaven,
into hell.
These facts have
always suggested
to man the sublime
creed,
that the world is not the
product
of manifold
power,
but of one
will,
of one
mind;
and that one mind
is
everywhere
active,
in each
ray
of the
star,
in each
wavelet of the
pool
;
and whatever
opposes
that will is
everywhere
balked and
baffled,
because
things
are made
ADDRESS. 105
so,
and not otherwise. Good is
positive^.
EYI]
is
mp.rpjy
privative,
not absolute : it is like
cold,
which is the
pri
vation of heat. All evil is so much death or
nonentity.
Benevolence
is absolute and real. So much benevolence
as a man
hath,
so much life hath he. For all
things pro
ceed out of this same
spirit,
which is
differently
named
love,
justice, temperance,
in its different
applications,
just
as the ocean receives different names on the several
shores which it washes. All
things proceed
out of the
same
spirit,
and all
things
^crrn
spire
w^tli
if,.
THiilst a
inan seeks
good
ends,
lie is
strong
fr
thf> whole
so far as he roves from these
finds,
he
Shrinks out of all remote
channels,
he becomes less and
less,
a
mote,
a
point,
until absolute badness is absolute
death._
~
T
i lie~
perception
of this law of laws awakens in the
mind a sediment which we call the
religious
sentiment,
and which makes our
highest
happinessI^W
ondertulls its
power
to charm and to command. It is a mountain air.
It is the embalmer of the world. It is
myrrh
and
storax,
and chlorine and
rosemary.
It makes the
sky
and the hills
sublime,
and the silent
song
oT llie &Uis is il.
Bftt,
is
the universe made safe and
habitable,
not
by
science or
power. Thought may
work cold and intransitive in
things,
and find no end or
unity
;
but the dawn of the
sentiment of virtue on the heart
gives
and is
tlir
iitimrr
ance that
JLawjLS__smrrrri(rn
-nrrr nil rnturr-y and the
worlds,
time.
/space, eternity,
do seem to break out into
iy-
It is the beati-
106 ADDRESS.
tude of man. It makes him illimitable.
Through
it,
the
soul first knows itself. It corrects the
capital
mistake of
the infant
man,
who seeks to be
great by following
the
great,
and
hopes
to derive
advantages//*^
another,
by
showing
the fountain of all
good
to be in
himself,
and
that
he,
equally
with
every
man,
is an inlet into the
deeps
of Reason. When he
says,
"
I
ought
"
;
when love warms
him
;
wjien
he
chooses,
warned from on
high,
the
good
and
great
deed
; then,
deep
melodies wander
through
"liis soul from
Supreme
Wisdom. Then he can
worship,
and be
enlarged by
his
worship;
for he can never
go
behind this sentiment. In the sublimest
flights
of the
soul,
rectitude is never
surmounted,
love is never out
-
rowji.
This sentiment lies at the foundation of
society,
and
ply firpatffi
a
^1 fprmg nf
worship.
The principle
of veneration never dies out. Man fallen into
supersti-
tion7into
sensuality,
is
neyefquite
without the visions of
the moral sentiment. In like
manner,
all the
expressions
of this sentiment are sacred and
permanent
in
proportion
to their
purity.
The
expressions
oi mis sentiment affect
us more than all other
compositions.
The sentences of
the oldest
time,
which
ejaculate
this
piety,
are still fresh
and
fragrant.
This
thought
dwelled
always deepest
in
the minds of men in the devout and
contemplative
East
;
not alone in
Palestine,
where it reached its
purest expres
sion,
but in
Egypt,
in
Persia,
in
India,
in China.
Europe
has
always
owed to Oriental
genius
its divine
impulses.
What these
holy
bards
said,
all sane men found
agreeable
and true. And the
unique impression
of Jesus
upon
mankind,
whose name is not so much written as
ploughed
ADDRESS. 107
into the
history
of this
world,
is
proof
of the subtle virtue
of this infusion.
Meantime,
whilst the doors of the
temple
stand
open,
night
and
day,
before
every
man,
and the oracles of this
truth cease
never,
it is
guarded by
one stern condition :
this,
namely
;
it is an intuition^ It cannot be received
at second hand.
Truly
speaking,
it is
notjnstr.uction.
but
provocation,
that I can receive from another soul.
What he
announces,
1 must hnd irueTn
me,
or
wholly
reject
;
and on his
word,
or as his
second,
be he who he
may,
I can
accept nothing.
On the
contrary,
the ab
sence of this
primary
faith is the
presence
of
dpgmfT^-r
tion. As is the flood so is the ebb. Let this faith de
part,
and the
very
words it
spake,
and the
things
it
made,
become false and hurtful. Then falls the
church,
the
state, art, letters,
life. The doctrine of the divine
nature
being forgotten,
a sickness infects and dwarfs the
constitution. Once man was
all;
now he is an
appen
dage,
a nuisance. And because the
indwelling Supreme
Spirit
cannot
wholly
be
got
rid
of,
the doctrine of it
suffers this
perversion,
that the divine nature is attrib
uted to one or two
persons,
and denied to all the
rest,
and denied with
fury.
The doctrine of
inspiration
is
lost
;
the base doctrine
of
the
majority
of voices
usurps
the
place
of the doctrine of the soul.
Miracles,
proph
ecy, poetry
;
the ideal
life,
the
holy
life,
exist as ancient
history merely; they
are not in the
belief,
nor in the
aspiration
of
society
; but,
when
suggested,
seem ridicu
lous. Life is" comic or
pitiful,
as soon as the
high
ends
of
being
fade out of
sight,
and man becomes
near-sighted,
and can
only
attend to what addresses the senses.
108 ADDRESS.
These
general
views, which,
whilst
they
are
general,
none will
contest,
find abundant illustration in the his
tory
of
religion,
and
especially
in the
history
of the
Christian Church. In
that,
all of us have had our
birth and nurture. The truth contained in
that,
you,
my young
friends,
are now
setting
forth to teach. As
the
Cultus,
or established
worship
of the civilized
world,
it has
great
historical interest for us. Of its blessed
words,
which have been the consolation of
humanity,
you
need not that I should
speak.
I shall endeavor to
discharge my duty
to
you,
on this
occasion,
by pointing
out two errors in its
administration,
which
daily appear
more
gross
from the
point
of view we have
just
now
taken.
Jesus Christ
belonged
to the true race of
prophets
.
He saw with
open eye
the
mystery
of the soul. Drawn
by
its severe
harmony,
ravished with its
beauty,
he lived
in
it,
and had his
being
there. Alone in all
history,
he
estimate^ the,
greatness
of man. Une man was true to
what is in
you
and me. He saw that God
incarnate.s
him
:
*plf
in an
and evermore goes
fftr
f
h
flF
pw fn
t
a]rp
?"*-
Tajinn
nf
hin^imrid He
said,
in this
jubilee
of sublime
emotion,
"
I am divine.
Through
me,
Gofl acts
;
through
wKen thou
jdso^thinkr
it ni T nmHhinV
"
diSt6rtion dicfhis doctrine and
memory
suffer in the
same,
in the
next,
and the
following ages
! There is no doctrine
of the Reason which will bear to be
taught by
the Under
standing.
The
"Hfrsffl rif^
or
caught
this
high
chant
from the
poet
s
lips,
and
said,
in the
ne%t,
igq,
"This
was Jehovah come down out of heaven.
But
what a
ADDRESS. 109
JLyou
sav he was a man." The
.idioms
of his
language,
and the
figures
of his
rhetoric,
have
usurped
the
place
nf his
tri4h4
and churches are not built on his
princi
ples,
but on his
tropes.
Christianity
tif^ani"
"
"rhj
fk" g
/
aT Lin
puotio touching
of Greece and of
Egypt,
before.
He
spoke
of miracles
;
for he felt that man s life was
a
miracle,
and all that man
doth,
and he knew thaT his
daily
miracle
shines,
as the character ascends. But the
word
Miracle,
as
pronounced by
Christian
churches,
gives
a false
impression
;
it is Monster. It is not one
with the
blowing
clover and the
falling
rain.
He felt
respect
for Moses and the
prophets
;
but no
unfit tenderness at
postponing
their initial
revelations,
to the hour and the man that now is
;
to the eternal
revelation in the heart. Thus was he a true man.
Having
seen that the law in us is
commanding,
he would
not suffer it to be commanded.
Boldly,
with
hand,
and
heart,
and
life,
he declared it was God. Thus is
he,
as
I
think,
the
only
soul in
history
who has
appreciated
the worth of a man.
1. In this
point
of view we become
very
sensible of
the first
defect
of bist-
^]
Christianity
Historical
Christianity
has fallen into the error that
corrupts
all
attempts
to communicate
religion.
As it
appears
to
us,
and as it has
appeared
for
ages,
it is
not,
ff
lip.
r^frima.
of
the
soul,
but an
exaggeration
of the
personal.the
ppsi-
"
exaggeration
about the nerson of Jesus. The soul knows
no
persons.
It invites
every
man to
expand
to the full
circle of the universe, and will have no
preferences
but
fliost* 1)1
iJUbnlaneous_Jflite. But
by
this eastern mon-
110 ADDRESS.
arcliy
of a
Christianity,
which indolence and fear have
built,
the friend of man is made the
injurer
of man.
The manner in which his name is surrounded with ex
pressions,
which were once sallies of admiration and
love,
but are now
petrified
into official
titles,
kills all
generous sympathy
and
liking.
All who hear me feel
that the
language
that describes Christ to
Europe
and
America,
is not the
style
of
friendship
and enthusiasm
to a
good
and noble
heart,
but is
appropriated
and
formal,
paints
a
demi-god
as the Orientals or the
Greeks would describe Osiris or
Apollo. Accept
the
inju
rious
impositions
of our
early
catechetical
instruction,
and even
honesty
and self-denial were but
splendid
sins,
if
they
did not wear the Christian name. One would
rather be
"
A
pagan,
suckled in a creed
outworn,"
than to be defrauded of his
manly right
in
coming
into
nature,
and
finding
not names and
places,
not land and
professions,
but even virtue and truth foreclosed and
monopolized.
You shall not be a man even. You shall
not own the world
;
you
shall not
dare,
and live after the
infinite Law that is in
you,
and in
company
with the in
finite
Beauty
which heaven and earth reflect to
you
in all
lovely
forms
;
but
you
must subordinate
your
nature to
Christ s nature
;
you
must
accept
our
interpretations
;
and take his
portrait
as the
vulgar
draw it.
That is
always
best which
gives
me to
myself.
The
sublime is excited in me
by
the
great
stoical
doctrine,
Obey thyself.
That
jvhjch
shpw
g ^A
"
,
^*;fl c
hat
wliichshows
God out of me. makes me a
ey
me. T
ADDRESS.
Ill
wart and a wen. There is no
longer
a
necessary
reason
?QJ
niy
"h^incr Already
the
long
shadows of
untimely
oblivion
creep
over
me,
and I shall decease forever.
The divine bards are the friends of
my
virtue,
of
my
intellect,
of
my strength. They
admonish
me,
that the
gleams
which flash across
my
mind are not
mine,
but
God s
;
that
they
had the
like,
and w
r
ere not disobedient
to the
heavenly
vision. So I love them. Noble
provo
cations
go
out from
them,
inviting
me to resist evil
;
to
subdue the
world;
and to Be. And thus
by
his
holy
thoughts,
Jesus serves
us,
and thus
only.
To aim to
convert a man
by
miracles,
is a
profanation
of the soul.
A true
conversion,
a true
Christ,
is n
nw
,
**
fllwayg
to
trueTthat a
great
and rich
soul,
like
his,
falling among
the
simple,
does so
preponderate,
that,
as his
did,
it
names the world. The world seems to them to exist for
him,
and
they
have not
^et
drunk so
deeply
of his
sense,
as to see that
only by coming again
to
themselves,
or to
God in
themselves,
can
they grow
forevermore. It is a
low benefit to
give
me
something
;
it is a
high
benefit
to enable me to do somewhat of
myself.
The time is
coming
when all men will
see,
that the
gift
of God to the
soul is not a
vaunting, overpowering, excluding sanctity,
Trmft.
p
swppf
pafnral
goodness
T
a
goodness
like thine and
mine,,
and that so invites thine and mine to be .and to
grow
The
injustice
of the
vulgar
tone of.
preaching
is not
less
flagrant
to
Jesus,
than to the souls which it
pr6-
fanes. The
preachers
do not see that
they
make his
gospel
not
glad,
and shear him of the locks of
beauty
112 ADDRESS.
and the attributes of heaven. When I see a
majestic
Epaminondas,
or
Washington
;
when I see
among my
contemporaries,
a true
orator,
an
upright judge,
a dear
friend;
when I vibrate to the
melody
and
fancy
of a
poem;
I see
beauty
that is to be desired. And so
lovely,
and with
yet
more entire consent of
my
human
being,
sounds in
my
ear the severe music of the bards
that have
sung
of the true God in all
ages.
Now do not
degrade
the life and
dialogues
of Christ out of the circle
of this
. charm,
by
insulation and
peculiarity.
Let them
lie as
they
befell,
alive and
warm,
part
of human
life,
and
of the
landscape,
and of the cheerful
day.
2. The second defect of the
traditionary
and
limited
way
of
using
the mind of Christ is a
consequence
of the
first
;
this,
namely,
that the Moral
Nature,
that Law of
laws,
whose revelations introduce
greatness. yea.
God
himself,
into the
open soul,
is not
explored
as the foun
tain Of
the.^tfliNi*
1
^
tpanfr
ng
l
n nri
pfj
t
Men have
come to
speak
of the revelation as somewhafT
loyjg
1
ago
given
and
done,
as
if
God
wpre
/
fcH The
injury
to
taitli throttles the
preacher ;
and the
goodliest
of insti
tutions becomes an uncertain and
inarticulate voice.
It is
very
certain that it is the
effect
of
with the
beauty
of the soul, to
be^et,
a.
dpsirp,
anrl
to
impart
io others the sam
p
kr^^^r,
and love. If
utterance is
denied,
the
thought
lies like a burden on the
man.
Always
the seer is a saver. Somehow his dream
is told : somehow he
publishes
it with solemn
joy
: some
times with
pencil
on canvas
;
sometimes with chisel on
stone
;
sometimes in towers and aisles of
granite,
his
soul s
worship
is builded
;
sometimes in anthems or in-
ADDEESS. 113
definite
music;
but clearest and most
permanent,
in
words.
The
man enamored of this
excellency,
becomes its
priest
or
poet.
The office is coeval with the world. But
observe the
condition,
the
spiritual
limitation of the
office. The
spirit
only
can teach. Not
any profane
man,
not
any
sensual,
not
any
liar,
not
any
slave can
teach,
but
only
he can
give,
who has
;
liejon]y_cajLCjejite^wlio
is. The man on whom the soul
demands,
thrmighjvhom
thft soul
speafra,
flinty
nan tea/sh. _
Courage, piety,
love,
wisdom,
can teach
;
and
every
man can
open
his door to
these
angels,
and
they
shall
bring
him the
gift
of
tongues.
But the man who aims to
speak
as
formica
p.nahla,
as
synods
use,
as the
fi^hl
1
ff""fo,
"d "- intnmnf mm.
mands,
babbles. Let him hush.
To .this
holy
office
you propose
to devote
yourselves.
I wish
you may
feel
your
call in throbs of desire and
hope.
The office is the first in the world. It is of that
reality
that it cannot suffer the deduction of
any
false
hood. And it is
my duty
to
say
to
you,
that the need
was never
greater
of new revelation than now. From
the views I have
already expressed, you
will infer the
sad
conviction,
which I
share,
1
believe,
with
numbers,
of the universal
decay
and now almost death of faith in
society.
The soul is not
preached.
The Church seems
to totter to its
fall,
almost all life extinct. On this oc
casion,
any complaisance
would be
criminal,
which told
you,
whose
hope
and commission it is to
preach
the faith
of
Christ,
that the faith of Christ is
preached.
It is time that this
ill-suppressed
murmur of all
thoughtful
men
against
the famine of our churches
;
this
114 ADDRESS.
moaning
of the heart because it is bereaved of the conso
lation,
the
hope,
the
grandeur,
that come alone out of
the culture of the moral nature
;
should be heard
through
the
sleep
of
indolence,
and over the din of
routine.
This
great
and
perpetual
office of the
preacher
is not
discharged.
Preaching
is the expression of the moral
sentiment in
application
to the duties of
life.
In how
many churches, Dy
now
many prophets,
tell
me,
is nTSn
T^pcfpc^lp
fliaf
Jifi.is
an infinite Soul
;
that the earth
arid heavens are
passing
into his mind
;
^that he is drink
ing
forever
IM MUUl Oi God r Where now sounds the
persuasion,
that
by
its
very melody
im
paradises my
heart,
and so affirms its own
origin
in heaven ? Where
shall I hear words such as in elder
ages
drew men to
leave all and
follow,
father and
mother,
house and
land,
wife and child ? Where shall I hear these
august
laws of moral
being
so
pronounced,
as to fill
my
ear,
and
I feel ennobled
by
the offer of
my
uttermost action and
passion
? The test of the true
faith,
certainly,
should be
its
power
to charm and command the
soul,
as the laws of
nature control the
activity
of the
hands,
so command
ing
that we find
pleasure
and honor in
obeying.
The
faith should blend with the
light
of
rising
and of
setting
suns,
with the
flying
cloud,
the
singing
bird,
and the
breath of flowers. But now the
priest
s Sabbath has
lost the
splendor
of nature
;
it is
unlovely
;
we are
glad
when it is done
;
we can
make,
we do
make,
even
sitting
in our
pews,
a far
better, holier, sweeter,
for ourselves.
Whenever the
pulpit
is
mil
rppfihy
fl fn^
1
*.
then is
lln
TrrTuliippiir
rinfrniiidT^nrl Vlinrnnmlrrtr We shrink
as soon as the
prayers begin,
which do not
uplift,
but
ADDRESS.
115
smite and
offend^
us. We are fain to
wrap
our cloaks
aboutTus,
and
secure,
as best we
can,
a solitude that
hears not. I once heard a
preacher
who
sorely tempted
me to
say
I would
go
to church no more. Men
go,
thought
I,
where
they
are wont to
go,
else had no soul
entered the
temple
in the afternoon. A snow-storm was
falling
around us. The snow-storm was real
;
the
preacher
merely spectral
;
and the
eye
felt the sad contrast in look
ing
at
him,
and then out of the window behind
him,
into
the beautiful meteor of the snow. He had lived in vain.
He had no one word
intimating
that he had
laughed
or
wept,
was married or in
love,
had been
commended,
or
cheated,
or
chagrined.
If he had ever lived and
acted,
we were none the wiser for it. The
capital
secret o his
profession,
namelyf
to convert
lifejnio^tr^tivj
IIP,
hjidjiot
ka^ned.
jNotone
fact in all his
experience
had he
y
u
et
imported
into his doctrine. This man had
ploughed,
and
planted,
and
talked,
ana
bought,
and sold
;
he had read
books
;
he had eaten and drunken
;
his head aches
;
his
heart throbs
;
he smiles and suffers
;
yet
was there not
a
surmise,
a
hint,
in all the
discourse,
that he had ever
lived at all.
~~
JNot a line did he draw out of real
history.
--The
trUtTpreacher
can be known
by
this,
that he deals
uLfo
Hip
{Yfftylo
hin
lifnj
-
liftr
pnfnnH
4
tiT>r>
n^h...tb.p!
fire
of
thought.
But of the bad
preacher,
it could not be
"""told frdmTis
sermon,
what
age
of the world he fell in
;
whether he had a father or a
child;
whether he was
a freeholder or a
pauper
;
whether he was a citizen or a
countryman
;
or
any
other fact of his
biography.
It
seemed
strange
that the
people
should come to church.
It seemed as if their houses were
very unentertaining,
116
ADDRESS.
that
they
should
prefer
this
thoughtless
clamor. It shows
that there is a
commanding
attraction in the moral senti
ment,,
that can lend a faint tint of
light
to
dulness and
ignorance, coming
in its name and
place.
The
good
hearer is sure he has been touched
sometimes
;
is sure
there is somewhat to be
reached,
and some word that can
reach it. When he listens to these vain
words,
he com
forts himself
by
their relation to his
remembrance of bet
ter
hours,
and so
they
clatter and echo
unchallenged.
I am not
ignorant
that when we
preach
unworthily,
it is not
always quite
in vain. There is a
good
ear,
in
some
men,
that draws
supplies
to virtue out of
very
in
different nutriment. There is
poetic
truth concealed in
all the
commonplaces
of
prayer
and of
sermons,
and
though foolishly spoken, they may
be
wisely
heard
; for,
each is some select
expression
that broke out in a mo
ment of
piety
from some stricken or
jubilant soul,
and
its
excellency
made it remembered. The
prayers
and
even the
dogmas
of our church are like the zodiac of
Denderah,
and the astronomical monuments of the Hin
doos,
wholly
insulated from
anything
now extant in the
life and business of the
people. They
mark the
height
to which the waters once rose. But this
docility
is a
check
upon
the mischief from the
good
and
devout. In
a
large portion
of the
community,
the
religious
service
gives
rise to
quite
other
thoughts
and emotions. We
need not chide the
negligent
servant. We are struck
with
pity,
rather,
at the swift retribution of his sloth.
Alas
for the
unhappy
man that is called to stand in the
pulpit,
and not
give
bread of life.
Everything
that be
falls,
accuses him. Would he ask contributions for the
ADDRESS. 117
missions,
foreign
or domestic ?
Instantly
his face is suf
fused with
shame,
to
propose
to his
parish,
that
they
should send
money
a hundred or a thousand
miles,
to
furnish such
poor
fare as
they
have at
home,
and would
do well to
go
the hundred or the thousand miles to es
cape.
Would he
urge people
to a
godly way
of
living
;
and can he ask a fellow-creature to come to Sabbath
meetings,
when he and
they
all know what is the
poor
uttermost
they
can
hope
for therein? Will he invite
them
privately
to the Lord s
Supper?
He dares not.
If no heart warm this
rite,
the
hollow,
dry, creaking
for
mality
is too
plain,
than that he can face a man of wif
and
energy,
and
put
the invitation without terror. In
the
street,
what has he to
say
to the bold
village
blas
phemer
? The
village blasphemer
sees fear in the
face,
form,
and
gait
of the minister.
Let me not taint the
sincerity
of this
plea by any
over
sight
of the claims of
good
men. I know and honor the
purity
and strict conscience of numbers of the
clergy.
What life the
public worship
retains,
it owes to the
scattered
company
of
pious
men,
who minister here and
there in the
churches,
and
who,
sometimes
accepting
with
too
great
tenderness the tenet of the
elders,
have not ac
cepted
from
others,
but from their own
heart,
the
genuine
impulses
of
virtue,
and so still command our love and
awe,
to the
sanctity
of character.
Moreover,
the
excep
tions are not so much to be found in a few eminent
preachers,
as in the better
hours,
the truer
inspirations
of
all,
nay,
in the sincere
moments of
every
man.
But with whatever
exception,
it is still
true,
that
tra-_
.s fhP
prpaolmi
nf ftiir-
nnnr^y
. +W
118 ADDRESS.
it comes
_o"t
^f
t.hp.
mpimnry, ^nd
not out of the
soul:
that It aims at what is
usual,
an^
no*
+
w^t jg
TIPOPC.
sary
and eternal :
that thus historical
Christianity
^\f>.-
stroys
the
power
of
preaching,
by
withdrawing
it
from
the
exploration,
of the moral nature of
man,
where the
sublime
is,
where are the resourpp i nf
power.
What a cruel
injustice
it is to that
Law,
the
joy
of the whole
earth,
which alone can make
thought
dear
and rich
;
that Law whose fatal sureness the astronomi
cal orbits
poorly
emulate,
that it is travestied and
depre
ciated,
that it is behooted and
behowled,
and not a
trait,
not a word of it articulated. The
pulpit,
in
losing sight
o^this
Law,
loses its
reason,
and
gp
ps
after
it knows
notwbai. And tor want oi this
culture,
the soul of the
community
is sick and faithless. It wants nothing so
much as a
stern,
high,
stoical,
Christian
discipline,
to
make it know itself and the
divinity
tEal
JJpeaks^tTirough
it. .Now man is Ashamed of
himself;
he skulks and
sneaks
through
the
world,
to be
tolerated,
to be
pitied,
and
scarcely
in a thousand
years
does
any
man dare to
be wise and
good,
and so draw after him the tears and
blessings
of his kind.
Certainly
there have been
periods
when,
from the in
activity
of the intellect on certain
truths,
a
greater
faith
was
possible
in names and
persons.
The Puritans
in
England
and America found in the Christ of the Catho*
lie
Church,
and in the
dogmas
inherited from
Rome,
scope
for their austere
piety,
and their
longings
for civil
freedom. But their creed is
passing away,
and none
arises in its room. I think no man can
go
with his
thoughts
about him into one of our
churches,
without
ADDRESS.
119
feeling,
that what hold the
public worship
had on men is
gone,
or
going.
It has lost its
^rasp
on the affection
of the
good,
and the fear of the bad. In the
country,
neighborhoods, halt-parishes
are
signing off,
to use the
local term. It is
already beginning
to indicate character
and
religion
to withdraw from the
religious meetings.
I have heard a devout
person,
who
prized
the
Sabbath,
say
in bitterness of
heart,
"
On
Sundays,
it seems wicked
to
go
to church." And the motive that holds the best
there,
is now
only
a
hope
and a
waiting.
What was
once a mere
circumstance,
that the best and the worst
men in the
parish,
the
poor
and the
rich,
the learned
and the
ignorant, young
and
old,
should meet one
day
as fellows in one
house,
in
sign
of an
equal right
in
the
soul,
has come to be a
paramount
motive for
going
thither.
My
friends,
in these two
errors,
I
think,
I find the
causes of a
decaying
church and a
wasting
unbelief.
And what
greater calamity
can fall
upon
a nation than
the loss of
worship?
Then all
things go
to
decay.
Genius leaves the
temple,
to haunt the
senate,
or the
market.
Literature becomes frivolous. Science is cold.
The
eye
of
youth
is not
lighted by
the
hope
of other
worlds,
and
age
is without honor.
Society
lives to tri
fles,
and when men
die,
we do not mention them.
And
now,
my
brothers,
you
will
ask,
What in these de
sponding days
can be done
by
us ? The
remedy
is
already
declared in the
ground
of our
complaint
of the Church.
W
hmrn rofttetnHho Churoh with
th^oul.
In
the
soul, then, let the
redemption
bq
sought-
Wherever
a
man
comes,
there comes
revolution,
The old is for
120
ADDRESS.
slaves. When a man
comes,
all books are
legible,
all
things transparent,
all
religions
are forms. He is re
ligious.
Man is the wonder-worker. He is seen amid
miracles. All men bless and curse. He saith
yea
and
nay, only.
The stationariness of
religion
;
the
assump
tion that the
age
of
inspiration
is
past,,
that the Bible
is^n1nsp
(
(l
;
the fear of
deg.rH
np
1
*3">
rln^Frtftr- "f
J^m^s
by
representing^
him as a man
; indicate
with
sufficient
clearness the falsehood of our theology. It is the office
ofatrue teacher to show us that God is. not was :
that
he
speak
p.th. not
spal^p..
The true Christianity a faith
like Christ s in the infinitude of man
js
lost. None
believeth in the soul of
man,
but
only
in some man or
person
old and
departed.
Ah me ! no man
goeth
alone.
All men
go
in flocks to this saint or that
poet, avoiding
the God who seeth in secret
;
they
cannot see in secret
;
they
love to be blind in
public. They
^
jpk
gr>f>i pf
y
*f>*
thjtn
their
soul^nd
frnnw
not,
%t
onp smil.
qpd
|heir
srml i.
T^lfiffl
fj^.n
f]in whnlr -rnrlri See how nations
and races flit
by
on the sea of
time,
and leave no
ripple
to tell where
they
floated or
sunk,
and one
good
soul
shall make the name of
Moses,
or of
Zeno,
or of Zoroas
ter reverend forever. None
assayeth
the stern ambition
to be the Self of the
nation,
and of
nature,
but each
would be an
easy secondary
to some Christian
scheme,
or sectarian
connection,
or some eminent man. Once
leave
your
own
knowledge
of
God,
your
own
sentiment,
and take
secondary knowledge,
as St. Paul
s,
or
George
Eox
s,
or
Swedenborg
s,
and
you get
wide from God with
every year
this
secondary
form
lasts,
and
if,
as
now,
for
centuries,
the chasm
yawns
to that
breadth,
that men
ADDRESS. 121
can
scarcely
be convinced there is in them
anything
divine.
Let me admonish
you,
first of
all,
to
go
alone
;
to re
fuse the
good
models,
even those which are sacred in the
imagination
of
men,
and dare to
WP. find without medi-
ator or veil. Friends
enough you
shall find who will
hold
up
to
your
emulation
Wesleys
and
Qberlins,
Saints
and
Prophets.
Thank
God.^jpr
these
goo3 men,
but
say,
"
I also am a man." Imitation
narmnr,
^c\ ahnvp
l
^-<
model. The
imitfiilnr
^i"ir
n J-^"*-*^^
i^poiocc
medioc^.
i**
***
*
/
"rTtyT
The inventor did it because it was natural to
him,
M
ana so in him it has a charm. In the
imitator,
s"ome-
Iff
thing
else is
natural,
and he bereaves himself of his own
beatfty^to
come
nhnrt
^f o/vM^
r
jpv.
o
iourself a new-born bard of the
Holy
Ghost,
cast
behind
you
all
conformity,
and
acquaint
men at first hand
with
Deity.
Look to it first and
only,
that
fashion,
cus
tom,
authority, pleasure,
and
money
are
nothing
to
you,
are not
bandages
over
your eyes,
that
you
cannot
see,
but live with the
privilege
of the immeasurable mind.
Not too anxious to visit
periodically
all families and each
family
in
your parish
connection,
when
you
meet one
of these men or
women,
be to them a divine man
;
be to
them
thought
and virtue
;
let their timid
aspirations
find
in
you
a friend
;
let their
trampled
instincts be
genially
tempted
out in
your atmosphere
;
let their doubts know
that
you
have
doubted,
and their wonder feel that
you
have wondered.
Jty trusting
gain
more confidence in other men. For all our
penny-
wisdom,
for all our
soul-destroying slavery
to
habit,
it is
not to be
doubted,
that all men have sublime
thoughts
j
6
122 ADDRESS.
that all men value the few real hours of life
;
they
love
to be heard
;
they
love to be
caught up
into the vision
of
principles.
We mark with
light
in the
memory
the
few interviews we have
had,
in the
dreary years
of rou
tine and of
sin,
with souls that made our souls
wiser;
that
spoke
what we
thought;
that told us what we
knew
;
that
gave
us leave to be what we
inly
were.
Discharge
to men the
priestly
office, and,
present
or ab
sent,
you
shall be followed with their love as
by
an
angel.
And,
to this
end,
let us not aim at common
degrees
of
merit. Can we not
leave,
to such as love
it,
the virtue
that
glitters
for the commendation of
society,
and our
selves
pierce
the
deep
solitudes of absolute
ability
and
worth ? We
easily
come
up
to the standard of
goodness
in
society. Society
s
praise
can be
cheaply
secured,
and
almost all men are content with those
easy
merits
;
but
the instant effect of
conversing
with
God,
will be to
put
them
away.
There are
persons
who are not
actors,
not
speakers,
but influences
;
persons
too
great
for
fame,
for
display
;
who disdain
eloquence
;
to whom all we call art
and
artist,
seems too
nearly
allied to show and
by-ends,
to the
exaggeration
of the finite and
selfish,
and loss of
the universal. The
orators,
the
poets,
the
commanders,
encroach on us
only
as fair women
do,
by
our allowance
and
homage. Slight
them
by preoccupation
of
mind,
slight
them,
as
you
can well afford to
do,
by high
and
universal
aims,
and
they instantly
feel that
you
have
right,
and that it is in lower
places
that
they
must shine.
They
also feel
your right
;
for
they
with
you
are
open
to the influx of the
all-knowing Spirit,
which annihi
lates before its broad noon the little shades and
grada
ADDRESS.
123
tions of
intelligence
in the
compositions
we call wiser
and wisest.
In such
high
communion,
let us
study
the
grand
strokes
of rectitude
;
a bold
benevolence,
an
indepen
dence of
friends,
so that not the
unjust
wishes of those
who love
us,
shall
impair
our
freedom,
but we shall resist
for truth s sake the freest flow of
kindness,
and
appeal
to
sympathies
far in advance
;
and what is the
highest
form in which we know this beautiful element a cer
tain
solidity
of
merit,
that has
nothing
to do with
opin
ion,
and which is so
essentially
and
manifestly
virtue,
that it is taken for
granted,
that the
right,
the
brave,
the
generous step
will be taken
by
it,
and
nobody
thinks
of
commending
it. You would
compliment
a coxcomb
doing
a
good
act,
but
you
would not
praise
an
angel.
The silence that
acceptsj^rit
flfi
t*
10
mnnt
nntiiiml
thing
i
,
in
thewbFld,
is th
eTiighest applause.
Such
souls,
whenn**
ITTCy apptm,
diu Ilia
Imperial
Guard of
Virtue,
the
per
petual
reserve,
the dictators of fortune. One needs not
praise
their
courage, they
are the heart and soul of
nature.
my
friends,
there are resources in us on
which we have not drawn! There are men who rise
refreshed on
hearing
a threat
;
men to whom a crisis
which intimidates and
paralyzes
the
majority,
demand
ing
not the faculties of
prudence
and
thrift,
but com
prehension,
immovableness,
the readiness of
sacrifice,
comes
graceful
and beloved as a bride.
Napoleon
said
of
Massena,
that he was not himself until the battle
began
to
go against
him
; then,
when the dead
began
to
fall in ranks around
him,
awoke his
powers
of combina
tion,
and he
put
on terror and
victory
as a robe. So it
124
ADDRESS.
is in
rugged
crises,
in unweariable
endurance,
and in
aims which
put sympathy
out of
question,
that the
angel
is shown. But these are
heights
that we can scarce
remember and look
up
to,
without contrition and shame.
Let us thank God that such
things
exist.
And now let us do what we can to rekindle the smoul
dering, nigh-quenched
fire on the altar. The evils of
the church that now is are manifest. The
question
re
turns,
What shall we do ? I
confess,
all
attempts
to
pro
ject
and establish a Cultus with new rites and
forms,
seem to me vain. Faith makes
us,
and not we
it,
and
faith makes its own forms. All
attempts
to contrive a
system
are as cold as the new
worship
introduced
by
the
French to the
goddess
of
Reason,
to-day, pasteboard
and
filigree,
and
ending
to-morrow in madness and mur
der. Rather
let the breath of new life be breathed
by
you through
the forms
already existing.
For,
if once
you
are
alive,
you
shall find
they
shall become
plastic
and
new. The
rpmnrly- tn thrir deformity is.
first,
Crm
1,
QT^
second, soul,
and
evermore,
soul. A whole
popedom
of
lorms,
one
pulsation
ot virtue" 6an
uplift
and
vivify.
Two
inestimable
advantages Christianity
has
given
us :
first,
the
Sabbath,
the
jubilee
of the whole world
;
whose
light
dawns welcome alike into the closet of the
philosopher,
into the
garret
of
toil,
and into
prison
cells,
and
every
where
suggests,
even to the
vile,
the
dignity
of
spiritual
being.
Let it stand
forevermore,
a
temple,
which new
w
faith,
new
sight,
shall restore to more than its
first
splendor
to mankind. And
secondly,
the institution
of
preaching,
the
speech
of man to
men,
essentially
the most flexible oT
alfTTrgans,
of all forms. What hin-
ADDEESS.
125
ders that
now,
everywhere,
in
pulpits,
in
lecture-rooms,
in
houses,
in
fields,
wherever the invitation of men or
your
own occasions lead
you, you speak
the
very
truth,
as
your
life and conscience teach
it,
and cheer the wait
ing, tainting
hearts of men with new
hope
and new reve
lation ?
I look for the hour when that
supreme Beauty,
which
ravished the souls of those Eastern
men,
and
chiefly
of
those
Hebrews,
and
through
their
lips spoke
oracles to
all
time,
shall
speak
in the West also. The Hebrew and
Greek
Scriptures
contain immortal
sentences,
that have
been bread of life to millions. But
they
have no
epical
integrity
;
are
fragmentary
;
are not shown in their oi der
to the intellect. I look for the new
Teacher,
that shall
follow so far those
shining
laws,
that he shall see them
come full circle
;
shall see their
rounding complete grace
;
see the world
t.Q
hp. the, mirror
pj* tl^R
snnl
the
identity
of the law
ofgra.vit.ai.inn
wif.li
purity
of
Ijeart,
;
and shall show that the
Ou^ht,
that
Duty,
is one
thing
with
Science,
with
Beauty,
and with
Joy.
LITERARY
ETHICS.
AN ORATION
DELIVERED BEFORE THE
LITERARY SOCIETIES
or DARTMOUTH
COLLEGE,
JULY
24,
1838.
OEATION.
GENTLEMEN:
The invitation to address
you
this
day,
with which
you
have honored
me,
was a call so
welcome,
that I made
haste to
obey
it. A summons to celebrate with scholars
a
literary
festival,
is so
alluring
to
me,
as to overcome
the doubts I
might
well entertain of
my ability
to
bring
you any thought worthy
of
your
attention. I have
reached the middle
age
of man
;
yet
I believe I am not
less
glad
or
sanguine
at the
meeting
of
scholars,
than
when,
a
boy,
I first saw the
graduates
of
my
own Col
lege
assembled at their
anniversary.
Neither
years
nor
books have
yet
availed to
extirpate
a
prejudice
then
rooted in
me,
that a scholar is the favorite of Heaven
and
earth,
the
excellency
of his
country,
the
happiest
of
men. His duties lead him
directly
into the
holy ground
where other men s
aspirations only point.
His successes
are occasions of the
purest joy
to all men.
Eyes
is he to
the blind
;
feet is he to the lame. His
failures,
if he is
worthy,
are inlets to
higher advantages.
And because
the
scholar,
by every thought
he
thinks,
extends his
dominion into the
general
mind of
men,
he is not
one,
but
many.
The few scholars in each
country,
whose
genius
I
know,
seem to me not
individuals,
but societies
;
and when events occur of
great import,
I count over
6*
i
130 LITERARY ETHICS.
these
representatives
of
opinion,
whom
they
will
affect,
as if I were
counting
nations.
And,
even if his results
were
incommunicable,
if
they
abode in his own
spirit,
the
intellect hath somewhat so sacred in its
possessions,
that
the fact of his existence and
pursuits
would be a
happy
omen.
Meantime I know that a
very
different estimate of the
scholar s
profession prevails
in this
country,
and the im
portunity,
with which
society presses
its claim
upon
young
men,
tends to
pervert
the views of the
youth
in
respect
to the culture of the intellect. Hence the histor
ical
failure,
on which
Europe
and America have so
freely
commented. This
country
has not fulfilled what seemed
the reasonable
expectation
of mankind. Men
looked,
when all feudal
straps
and
bandages
were
snapped
asunder,
that
nature,
too
long
the mother of
dwarfs,
should reimburse itself
by
a brood of
Titans,
who should
laugh
and
leap
in the
continent,
and run
up
the moun
tains of the West with the errand
of
genius
and of love.
But the mark of American merit in
painting,
in
sculp
ture,
in
poetry,
in
fiction,
in
eloquence,
seems to be a
certain
grace
without
grandeur,
and itself not new but
derivative
;
a vase of fair
outline,
but
empty,
which
whoso
sees,
may
fill with what wit and character is in
him,
but which does
not,
like the
charged
cloud,
over
flow with terrible
beauty,
and emit
lightnings
on all
beholders.
I will not lose
myself
in the
desultory questions,
wha*-
are the
limitations,
and what the causes of the fact. It
suffices me to
say,
in
general,
that the diffidence of man
kind in the soul has
crept
over the American
mind;
LITERARY ETHICS. 131
that-
men
here,
as
elsewhere,
are
indisposed
to innova
tion,
and
prefer any antiquity, any usage, any livery
productive
of ease or
profit,
to the
unproductive
service
of
thought.
Yet,
in
every
sane
hour,
the service of
thought ap
pears
reasonable,
the
despotism
of the senses insane.
The scholar
may
lose himself in
schools,
in
words,
and
become a
pedant
;
but when he
comprehends
his
duties,
he above all men is a
realist,
and converses with
things.
For,
the scholar is the student of the
world,
and of what
worth the world
is,
and with what
emphasis
it accosts
the soul of
man,
such is the
worth,
such the call of the
scholar.
The want of the
times,
and the
propriety
of this anni
versary,
concur to draw attention to the doctrine of
Literary
Ethics. What I have to
say
on that doctrine
distributes itself under the
topics
of the
resources,
the
subject,
and the
discipline
of the scholar.
I. The resources of the scholar are
proportioned
to
his confidence in the attributes of the Intellect. The
resources of the scholar are coextensive with nature and
truth,
yet
can never be
his,
unless claimed
by
him with
an
equal greatness
of mind. He cannot know them
until he has beheld with awe the infinitude and
imper
sonality
of the intellectual
power.
When he has
seen,
that it is not
his,
nor
any
man
s,
but that it is the soul
which made the
world,
and that it is all accessible to
him,
he will know that
he,
as its
minister,
may rightfully
hold all
things
subordinate and answerable to it.
A
divine
pilgrim
in
nature,
all
things
attend his
steps,
132
LITERARY ETHICS.
Over
him stream the
flying
constellations
;
over him
streams
Time,
as
they, scarcely
divided into months and
years.
He
inhales the
year
as a
vapor;
its
fragrant
midsummer
breath,
its
sparkling January
heaven. And
so
pass
into his
mind,
in
bright transfiguration,
the
grand
events of
history,
to take a new order and scale
from him. He is the world
;
and the
epochs
and heroes
of
chronology
are
pictorial images,
in which his
thoughts
are told. There
is no event but
sprung
somewhere from
the soul of
man;
and therefore there is none but the
soul of man can
interpret. Every presentiment
of the
mind is executed somewhere in a
gigantic
fact. What
else is
Greece, Rome,
England,
Prance. St. Helena ?
What
else are
churches, literatures,
empires
? The new
man must feel that he is
new,
and has not come into the
world
mortgaged
to the
opinions
and
usages
of
Europe,
and
Asia,
and
Egypt.
The sense of
spiritual
inde
pendence
is like the
lovely
varnish of the
dew,
whereby
the
old, hard,
peaked
earth,
and its old selfsame
produc
tions,
are made new
every morning,
and
shining
with
the last touch of the artist s hand. A false
humility,
a
complaisance
to
reigning
schools,
or to the wisdom of
antiquity,
must not defraud me of
supreme possession
of this hour. If
any person
have less love of
liberty,
and less
jealousy
to
guard
his
integrity,
shall he there
fore dictate to
you
and me ?
Say
to such
doctors,
We
are thankful to
you,
as we are to
history,
to the
pyramids
and the
authors;
but now our
day
is
come;
we have
been born out of the eternal silence
;
and now will we
live,
live for
ourselves,
and not as the
pall-bearers
of a
funeral,
but as the
upholders
and creators of our
LITEEARY ETHICS. 133
age
;
and neither Greece nor
Rome,
nor the three Uni
ties of
Aristotle,
nor the three
Kings
of
Cologne,
nor the
College
of the
Sorbonne,
nor the
Edinburgh
Review,
is
to command
any longer.
Now that we are
here,
we will
put
our own
interpretation
on
things,
and our own
things
for
interpretation.
Please himself with
complai
sance who
will,
for
me,
things
must take
my
scale,
not I theirs. I will
say
with the warlike
king,
"
God
gave
me this
crown,
and the whole world shall not take
it
away."
The whole value of
history,
of
biography,
is to in
crease
my
self-trust,
by demonstrating
what man can
be and do. This is the moral of the
Plutarchs,
the
Cudworths,
the
Tennemanns,
who
give
us the
story
of
men or of
opinions. Any history
of
philosophy
forti
fies
my
faith,
by showing
me,
that what
high dogmas
I
had
supposed
were the rare and late fruit of a cumula
tive
culture,
and
only
now
possible
to some recent Kant
or Eichte were the
prompt improvisations
of the ear
liest
inquirers
;
of
Parmenides,
Heraclitus,
and Xeno-
phanes.
In view of these
students,
the soul seems to
whisper,
"
There is a better
way
than this indolent learn
ing
of another. Leave me alone
;
do not teach me out
of Leibnitz or
Schelling,
and I shall find it all out
my
self."
Still more do we owe to
biography
the fortification of
our
hope.
If
you
would know the
power
of
character,
see how much
you
would
impoverish
the
world,
if
you
could take clean out of
history
the lives of
Milton,
Shak-
speare,
and
Plato,
these
three,
and cause them not to
be. See
you
not,
how much less the
power
of man would
134 LITERARY
ETHICS.
be ? I console
myself
in the
poverty
of
my thoughts,
in
the
paucity
of
great
men,
in the
malignity
and dulness of
the
nations,
by falling
back on these sublime
recollections,
and
seeing
what the
prolific
soul could
beget
on actual
nature
;
seeing
that Plato
was,
and
Shakspeare,
and
Milton,
three
irrefragable
facts. Then I dare
;
I also
will
essay
to be. The
humblest,
the most
hopeless,
in
view of these radiant
facts,
may
now theorize and
hope.
In
spite
of all the rueful abortions that
squeak
and
gib
ber in the
street,
in
spite
of slumber and
guilt,
in
spite
of the
army,
the
bar-room,
and the
jail,
have been these
glorious
manifestations of the mind
;
and I will thank
my
great
brothers so
truly
for the admonition of their
being,
as to endeavor also to be
just
and
brave,
to
aspire
and
to
speak.
Plotinus
too,
and
Spinoza,
and the immortal
bards of
philosophy,
that which
they
have written out
with
patient
courage,
makes me bold. No more will I
dismiss,
with
haste,
the visions which flash and
sparkle
across
my sky
;
but observe
them,
approach
them,
domes
ticate
them,
brood on
them,
and draw out of the
past,
genuine
life for the
present
hour.
To feel the full value of these
lives,
as occasions of
hope
and
provocation, you
must come to
know,
that each
admirable
genius
is but a successful diver in that sea
whose floor of
pearls
is all
your
own. The
impoverish
ing philosophy
of
ages
has laid stress on the distinctions
of the
individual,
and not on the universal attributes of
man. The
youth,
intoxicated with his admiration of a
hero,
fails to
see,
that it is
only
a
projection
of his own
soul which he admires. In
solitude,
in a remote
village,
the ardent
youth
loiters and mourns. With inflamed
LITERARY ETHICS. 135
eye,
in this
sleeping
wilderness,
he has read the
story
of the
Emperor
Charles the
Fifth,
until his
fancy
has
brought
home to the
surrounding
woods the faint roar
of cannonades
in the
Milanese,
and marches in
Germany.
He is curious
concerning
that man s
day.
What filled
it ? the crowded
orders,
the stern
decisions,
the
foreign
despatches,
the Castilian
etiquette
? The soul
answers,
Behold his
day
here ! In the
sighing
of these
woods,
in the
quiet
of these
gray
fields,
in the cool breeze that
sings
out of these northern mountains
;
in the
workmen,
the
boys,
the
maidens,
you
meet,
in the
hopes
of the
morning,
the ennui of
noon,
and
sauntering
of the after
noon
;
in the
disquieting comparisons
;
in the
regrets
at
want of
vigor
;
in the
great
idea,
and the
puny
execu
tion
;
behold Charles the Fifth s
day
; another,
yet
the
same
;
behold Chatham
s,
Hampden
s,
Bayard
s,
Alfred
s,
Scipio
s,
Pericles s
day, day
of all that are bom of wo
men. The difference of circumstance is
merely
costume.
I am
tasting
the selfsame
life,
its
sweetness,
its
great
ness,
its
pain,
which I so admire in other men. Do not
foolishly
ask of the
inscrutable,
obliterated
past,
what it
cannot
tell,
the details of that
nature,
of that
day,
called
Byron,
or Burke
;
but ask it of the
enveloping
Now
;
the more
quaintly you inspect
its evanescent beau
ties,
its wonderful
details,
its
spiritual
causes,
its astound
ing
whole,
so much the more
you
master the
biogra
phy
of this
hero,
and
that,
and
every
hero. Be lord of
a
day, through
wisdom and
justice,
and
you
can
put up
your history
books.
An intimation of these broad
rights
is familiar in the
sense of
injury
which men feel in the
assumption
of
any
136 LITERARY ETHICS.
man to limit their
possible progress.
We resent all crit
icism,
which denies us
anything
that lies in our line of
advance.
Say
to the man of
letters,
that he cannot
paint
a
Transfiguration,
or build a
steamboat,
or be a
grand-marshal,
and he will not seem to himself
depre
ciated. But
deny
to him
any quality
of
literary
or meta
physical power,
and he is
piqued.
Concede to him
genius,
which is a sort of Stoical
plenum annulling
the
comparative,
and he is content
;
but concede him talents
never so
rare,
denying
him
genius,
and he is
aggrieved.
What does this mean ?
Why simply,
that the soul has
assurance,
by
instincts and
presentiments,
of all
power
in the direction of its
ray,
as well as of the
special
skills
it has
already acquired.
In order to a
knowledge
of the resources of the
scholar,
we must not rest in the use of slender
accomplishments,
of faculties to do this and that other feat with words
;
but we must
pay
our vows to the
highest power,
and
pass,
if it be
possible, by
assiduous love and
watching,
into the visions of absolute truth. The
growth
of the
intellect is
strictly analogous
in all individuals. It is
larger reception.
Able
men,
in
general,
have
good
dis
positions,
and a
respect
for
justice
;
because an able man
is
nothing
else than a
good,
free,
vascular
organization,
whereinto
the universal
spirit freely
flows;
so that his
fund of
justice
is not
only
vast,
but infinite. All
men,
in the
abstract,
are
just
and
good
;
what hinders them
in the
particular
is,
the
momentary predominance
of the
finite and individual over the
general
truth. The condi
tion of our incarnation in a
private
self,
seems to be a
per
petual tendency
to
prefer
the
private
law,
to
obey
the
pri-
LITERARY ETHICS. 137
vate
impulse,
to the exclusion of the law of universal be
ing.
The hero is
great by
means of the
predominance
of
the universal nature
;
he has
only
to
open
his
mouth,
and
it
speaks
;
he has
only
to be forced to
act,
and it acts.
All men catch the
word,
or embrace the
deed,
with the
heart,
for it is
verily
theirs as much as his
;
but in them
this disease of an excess of
organization
cheats them of
equal
issues.
Nothing
is more
simple
than
greatness
;
indeed,
to be
simple
is to be
great.
The vision of
genius
comes
by renouncing
the too officious
activity
of the un
derstanding,
and
giving
leave and
amplest privilege
to the
spontaneous
sentiment. Out of this must all that is alive
and
genial
in
thought go.
Men
grind
and
grind
in the
mill of a
truism,
and
nothing
comes out but what was
put
in. But the moment
they
desert the tradition for
a
spontaneous thought,
then
poetry,
wit,
hope,
virtue,
learning,
anecdote,
all flock to their aid. Observe the
phenomenon
of
extempore
debate. A man of cultivated
mind,
but reserved
habits,
sitting
silent,
admires the
miracle of
free,
impassioned,
picturesque speech,
in the
man
addressing
an
assembly;
a state of
being
and
power,
how unlike his own !
Presently
his own emotion
rises to his
lips,
and
overflows in
speech.
He must also
rise and
say
somewhat. Once
embarked,
once
having
overcome the
novelty
of the
situation,
he finds it
just
as
easy
and natural to
speak,
to
speak
with
thoughts,
with
pictures,
with
rhythmical
balance of
sentences,
as
it was to sit silent
; for,
it needs not to
do,
but to suffer
;
he
only adjusts
himself to the free
spirit
which
gladly
utters itself
through
him;
and
motion is as
easy
as
rest.
138 LITERARY ETHICS.
II. I
pass
now to consider the task offered to the in
tellect of this
country.
The view I have taken of the
resources of the scholar
presupposes
a
subject
as broad.
We do not seem to have
imagined
its riches. We have
not heeded the invitation it holds out. To be as
good
a
scholar as
Englishmen
are
;
to have as much
learning
as
our
contemporaries
;
to have written a book that is read
;
satisfies us. We assume that all
thought
is
already long
ago adequately
set down in
books,
all
imaginations
in
poems
;
and what we
say,
we
only
throw in as confirm
atory
of this
supposed complete body
of literature. A
very
shallow
assumption. Say
rather,
all literature is
yet
to be written.
Poetry
has scarce chanted its first
song.
The
perpetual
admonition of nature to us
is,
"
The world
is
new,
untried. Do not believe the
past.
I
give you
the universe a
virgin to-day."
By
Latin and
English poetry,
we were born and bred
in an oratorio of
praises
of
nature, flowers, birds,
mountains, sun,
and moon
;
yet
the naturalist of this
hour finds that he knows
nothing, by
all their
poems,
of
any
of these fine
things
;
that he has conversed with the
mere surface and show of them all
;
and of their
essence,
or of their
history,
knows
nothing.
Further
inquiry
will discover that
nobody,
that not these
chanting poets
themselves,
knew
anything
sincere of these handsome
natures
they
so commended
;
that
they
contented them
selves with the
passing chirp
of a
bird,
that
they
saw
one or two
mornings,
and
listlessly
looked at
sunsets,
and
repeated idly
these few
glimpses
in their
song.
But
go
into the
forest,
you
shall find all new and undescribed.
The
screaming
of the wild
geese flying by night;
the
LITERARY ETHICS. 139
thin note of the
companionable
titmouse,
in the winter
day
;
the fall of swarms of
flies,
in
autumn,
from com
bats
high
in the
air,
pattering
down on the leaves like
rain
;
the
angry
hiss of the wood-birds
;
the
pine
throw
ing
out its
pollen
for the benefit of the next
century
;
the
turpentine exuding
from the tree
; and, indeed,
any
vegetation; any
animation;
any
and
all,
are alike un-
attempted.
The man who stands on the
sea-shore,
or
who rambles in the
woods,
seems to be the first man that
ever stood on the
shore,
or entered a
grove,
his sensa
tions and his world are so novel and
strange.
Whilst
I read the
poets,
I think that
nothing
new can be said
about
morning
and
evening.
But when I see the
day
break,
I am not reminded of these
Homeric,
or Shak-
spearian,
or
Miltonic,
or Chaucerian
pictures.
No
;
but
I feel
perhaps
the
pain
of an alien world
;
a world not
yet
subdued
by
the
thought
; or,
I am cheered
by
the
moist, warm,
glittering, budding,
melodious hour that
takes down the narrow walls of
my
soul,
and extends its
life and
pulsation
to the
very
horizon. That is
morning,
to cease for a
bright
hour to be a
prisoner
of this
sickly
body,
and to become as
large
as nature.
The
noonday
darkness of the American
forest,
the
deep, echoing, aboriginal
woods,
where the
living
col
umns of the oak and fir tower
up
from the ruins of the
trees of the last millennium
; where,
from
year
to
year,
the
eagle
and the crow see no
intruder;
the
pines,
bearded with
savage
moss,
yet
touched with
grace by
the
violets at their
feet;
the
broad,
cold
lowland,
which
forms its coat of
vapor
with the stillness of subterranean
crystallization
;
and where the
traveller,
amid the
repul-
140 LITERARY ETHICS.
sive
plants
that are native in the
swamp,
thinks with
pleasing
terror of the distant town
;
this
beauty, hag
gard
and desert
beauty,
which the sun and the
moon,
the
snow and the
rain,
repaint
and
vary,
has never been re
corded
by
art,
yet
is not indifferent to
any passenger.
All men are
poets
at heart.
They
serve Nature for
bread,
but her loveliness overcomes them sometimes. What
mean these
journeys
to
Niagara
;
these
pilgrims
to the
White Hills ? Men believe in the
adaptations
of
utility,
always
: in the
mountains,
they may
believe in the
adap
tations of the
eye.
Undoubtedly,
the
changes
of
geol
ogy
have a relation to the
prosperous sprouting
of the
corn and
peas
in
my kitchen-garden;
but not less is
there a relation of
beauty
between
my
soul and the dim
crags
of
Agiocochook
up
there in the clouds.
Every
man,
when this is
told,
hearkens with
joy,
and
yet
his
own conversation with nature is still
unsung.
Is it otherwise with civil
history
? Is it not the les
son of our
experience
that
every
man,
were life
long
enough,
would write
history
for himself? What else do
these volumes of extracts and
manuscript
commentaries,
that
every
scholar
writes,
indicate ? Greek
history
is
one
thing
to me
;
another to
you.
Since the birth of
Niebuhr and
Wolf,
Roman and Greek
History
have been
written anew. Since
Carlyle
wrote Erench
History,
we
see that no
history,
that we
have,
is
safe,
but a new clas
sifier shall
give
it new -and more
philosophical arrange
ment.
Thucydides, Livy,
have
only provided
materials.
The moment a man of
genius pronounces
the name of
the
Pelasgi,
of
Athens,
of the
Etrurian,
of the Roman
people,
we see their state under a new
aspect.
As in
LITERARY ETHICS. 141
poetry
and
history,
so in the other
departments.
There
are few masters or none.
Religion
is
yet
to be settled
on its fast foundations in the breast of man
;
and
politics,
and
philosophy,
and
letters,
and art. As
yet
we have
nothing
but
tendency
and indication.
This
starting,
this
warping
of the best
literary
works
from the adamant of
nature,
is
especially
observable in
philosophy.
Let it take what tone of
pretension
it
will,
to this
complexion
must it come at last.
Take,
for ex
ample,
the French
Eclecticism,
which Cousin esteems so
conclusive
;
there is an
optical
illusion in it. It avows
great pretensions.
It looks as if
they
had all
truth,
in
taking
all the
systems,
and had
nothing
to
do,
but to sift
and wash and
strain,
and the
gold
and diamonds would
remain in the last colander. But Truth is such a
fly
away,
such a
slyboots,
so
untransportable
and unbarrela-
ble a
commodity,
that it is as bad to catch as
light.
Shut the shutters never so
quick,
to
keep
all the
light
in,
it is all in vain
;
it is
gone
before
you
can
cry,
Hold.
And so it
happens
with our
philosophy.
Translate,
col
late,
distil all the
systems,
it steads
you nothing;
for
truth will not be
compelled,
in
any
mechanical manner.
But the first observation
you
make,
in the sincere act of
your
nature,
though
on the veriest
trifle,
may open
a new
view of nature and of
man, that,
like a
menstruum,
shll
dissolve all
theories in it
;
shall take
up
Greece, Rome,
Stoicism, Eclecticism,
and what
not,
as mere data and
food for
analysis,
and
dispose
of
your
world-containing
system,
as a
very
little unit. A
profound thought, any
where,
classifies all
things
;
a
profound thought
will lift
Olympus.
The book of
philosophy
is
only
a
fact,
and
142 LITERARY ETHICS.
no more
inspiring
fact than
another,
and no less
;
but a
wise man will never esteem it
anything
final and tran
scending.
Go and talk with a man of
genius,
and the
first word he utters sets all
your
so-called
knowledge
afloat and at
large.
Then
Plato, Bacon, Kant,
and the
Eclectic
Cousin,
condescended
instantly
to be men and
mere facts.
I
by
no means
aim,
in these
remarks,
to
disparage
the
merit of these or of
any existing compositions
;
I
only
say
that
any particular portraiture
does not in
any
man
ner exclude or forestall a new
attempt,
but,
when con
sidered
by
the
soul,
warps
and shrinks
away.
The
inundation of the
spirit sweeps away
before it all our
little architecture of wit and
memory,
as straws and
straw-huts before the torrent. Works of the intellect
are
great only by comparison
with each other
;
Ivanhoe
and
Waverley compared
with Castle Radcliffe and the
Porter novels
;
but
nothing
is
great,
not
mighty
Homer
and
Milton,
beside the infinite Reason. It carries
them
away
as a flood.
They
are as a
sleep.
Thus is
justice
done to each
generation
and individ
ual,
wisdom
teaching
man that he shall not
hate,
or
fear,
or mimic his
ancestors;
that he shall not bewail
himself,
as if the world was
old,
and
thought
was
spent,
and he was born into the
dotage
of
things
; for,
by
virtue
of the
Deity, thought
renews itself
inexhaustibly every
day,
and the
thing
whereon it
shines,
though
it were
dust and
sand,
is a new
subject
with countless relations.
III.
Having
thus
spoken
of the resources and the
subject
of the
scholar,
out of the same faith
proceeds
LITERARY ETHICS. 143
also the rule of his ambition and life. Let him know
that the world is
his,
but he must
possess
it
by putting
himself into
harmony
with the constitution of
things.
He must be a
solitary,
laborious, modest,
and charitable
soul.
He must embrace solitude as a bride. He must have
his
glees
and his
glooms
alone. His own estimate must
be measure
enough,
his own
praise
reward
enough
for
him. And
why
must the student be
solitary
and silent ?
That he
may
become
acquainted
with his
thoughts.
If
he
pines
in a
lonely place, hankering
for the
crowd,
for
display,
he is not in the
lonely place
;
his heart is in the
market
;
he does not see
;
he does not hear
;
he does not
think. But
go
cherish
your
soul
;
expel companions
;
set
your
habits to a life of solitude
; then,
will the facul
ties rise fair and full
within,
like forest trees and field
flowers;
you
will have
results, which,
when
you
meet
your
fellow-men,
you
can
communicate,
and
they
will
gladly
receive. Do not
go
into solitude
only
that
you
may presently
come into
public.
Such solitude denies
itself,
is
public
and stale. The
public
can
get public
experience,
but
they
wish the scholar to
replace
to them
those
private,
sincere,
divine
experiences,
of which
they
have been defrauded
by dwelling
in the street. It is the
noble, manlike,
just thought,
which is the
superiority
demanded of
you,
and not crowds but solitude confers
this elevation. Not insulation of
place,
but
indepen
dence of
spirit
is
essential,
and it is
only
as the
garden,
the
cottage,
the
forest,
and the rock are a sort of me
chanical aids to
this,
that
they
are of value. Think
alone,
and all
places
are
friendly
and sacred. The
poets
144
LITERARY ETHICS.
who have lived in cities have been hermits still.
Inspira
tion makes solitude
anywhere.
Pindar,
Raphael,
Angelo,
Drydeii,
De
Stael,
dwell in
crowds,
it
may
be,
but the in
stant
thought
comes,
the crowd
grows
dim to their
eye
;
their
eye
fixes on the
horizon,
on vacant
space
;
they
forget
the
bystanders; they spurn personal relations;
they
deal with
abstractions,
with
verities,
with
ideas.
They
are alone with the mind.
Of
course,
I would not have
any superstition
about
solitude. Let the
youth study
the uses of solitude and
of
society.
Let him use
both,
not serve either. The rea
son
why
an
ingenuous
soul shuns
society,
is to the end
of
finding
society.
It
repudiates
the
false,
out of love
of the true. You can
very
soon learn all that
society
can teach
you
for one while. Its foolish
routine,
an in
definite
multiplication
of
balls, concerts, rides, theatres,
can teach
you
no more than a few can. Then
accept
the
hint of
shame,
of
spiritual emptiness
and
waste,
which
true nature
gives you,
and
retire,
and hide
;
lock the
door
;
shut the shutters
;
then welcome falls the im
prisoning
rain,
dear
hermitage
of nature. Re-collect
the
spirits.
Have
solitary prayer
and
praise. Digest
and correct the
past experience
;
and blend it with the
new and divine life.
You will
pardon
me, Gentlemen,
if I
say,
I think that
we have need of a more
rigorous
scholastic rule
;
such an
asceticism,
I
mean,
as
only
the hardihood and devotion
of the scholar himself can enforce. We live in the sun
and on the
surface,
a
thin,
plausible, superficial
exist
ence,
and talk of muse and
prophet,
of art and creation.
But out of our shallow and frivolous
way
of
life,
how
LITERARY ETHICS. 145
can
greatness
ever
grow
? Come
now,
let us
go
and
be dumb. Let us sit with our hands on our
mouths,
a
long,
austere,
Pythagorean
lustrum. Let us live in
corners,
and do
chores,
and
suffer,
and
weep,
and
drudge,
with
eyes
and hearts that love the Lord.
Silence,
seclu
sion,
austerity, may pierce deep
into the
grandeur
and
secret of our
being,
and so
diving, bring up
out of sec
ular darkness the sublimities of the moral constitution.
How mean to
go blazing,
a
gaudy butterfly,
in fashion
able or
political
saloons,
the fool of
society,
the fool of
notoriety,
a
topic
for
newspapers,
a
piece
of the
street,
and
forfeiting
the real
prerogative
of the russet
coat,
the
privacy,
and the true and warm heart of the citizen !
Fatal to the man of
letters,
fatal to
man,
is the lust of
display,
the
seeming
that unmakes our
being.
A mis
take of the main end to which
they
labor is incident to
literary
men, who,
dealing
with the
organ
of
language,
the
subtlest,
strongest,
and
longest-lived
of man s
creations,
and
only fitly
used as the
weapon
of
thought
and of
justice,
learn to
enjoy
the
pride
of
playing
with
this
splendid engine,
but rob it of its
almightiness by
failing
to work with it.
Extricating
themselves from
the tasks of the
world,
the World
revenges
itself
by
ex
posing,
at
every
turn,
the
folly
of these
incomplete,
pedantic,
useless,
ghostly
creatures. The scholar will
feel that the richest
romance,
the noblest fiction that
was ever
woven,
the heart and soul of
beauty,
lies
enclosed in human life. Itself of
surpassing
value,
it is
also the richest material for his creations. How shall he
know its secrets of
tenderness,
of
terror,
of
will,
and of
fate ? How can he catch and
keep
the strain of
upper
7
j
146
LITERARY ETHICS.
music that
peals
from it ? Its laws are concealed under
the details of
daily
action. All action is an
experiment
upon
them. He must bear his share of the common
load. He must work with men in
houses,
and not with
their names in books. His
needs,
appetites,
talents,
affections,
accomplishments,
are
keys
that
open
to him
the beautiful museum of human life.
Why
should he
read it as an Arabian
tale,
and not
know,
in his own
beating
bosom,
its sweet and smart ? Out of love and
hatred,
out of
earnings
and
borrowings,
and
lendings
and losses
;
out of sickness and
pain
;
out of
wooing
and
worshipping;
out of
travelling,
and
voting,
and
watching,
and
caring;
out of
disgrace
and
contempt,
comes our tuition
in the serene and beautiful laws. Let
him not slur his
lesson;
let him learn it
by
heart. Let
him
endeavor, exactly,
bravely,
and
cheerfully,
to solve
the
problem
of
that
life which is set before him. And
this,
by punctual
action,
and not
by promises
or dreams.
Believing,
as in
God,
in the
presence
and favor of the
grandest
influences,
let him deserve
that
favor,
and learn
how to receive
and use
it,
by
fidelity
also to the lower
observances*.
This lesson
is
taught
with
emphasis
in the life of the
great
actor
of this
age,
and affords the
explanation
of
his success.
Bonaparte
represents
truly
a
great
recent
revolution,
which we in this
country, please
God,
shall
carry
to its furthest consummation.
Not the least in
structive
passage
in modern
history
seems to me a trait
of
Napoleon,
exhibited
to the
English
when he became
their
prisoner.
On
coming
on board the
Bellerophon,
a file of
English
soldiers drawn
up
on deck
gave
him
LITERARY ETHICS. 147
a
military
salute.
Napoleon
observed that their manner
of
handling
their arms differed from the French
exercise,
and,
putting
aside the
guns
of those nearest
him,
walked
up
to a
soldier,
took his
gun,
and himself went
through
the motion in the French mode. The
English
officers
and men looked on with
astonishment,
and
inquired
if
such
familiarity
was usual with the
Emperor.
In this
instance,
as
always,
that
man,
with whatever
defects or
vices,
represented performance
in lieu of
pre~
tension. Feudalism and Orientalism
had
long enough
thought
it
majestic
to do
nothing;
the modern
majesty
consists in work. He
belonged
to a
class,
fast
growing
in the
world,
who
think,
that what a man can do is his
greatest
ornament,
and that he
always
consults his
dig
nity by doing
it. He was not a believer in luck
;
he had
a
faith,
like
sight,
in the
application
of means to ends.
Means to
ends,
is the motto of all his behavior. He be
lieved that the
great captains
of
antiquity performed
their
exploits only by
correct
combinations,
and
by justly
com
paring
the relation between means and
consequences,
efforts and
obstacles. The
vulgar
call
good
fortune that
which
really
is
produced by
the calculations of
genius.
But
Napoleon,
thus faithful to
facts,
had also this crown
ing
merit
; that,
whilst he believed in number and
weight,
and omitted no
part
of
prudence,
he believed also in the
freedom and
quite
incalculable force of the soul. A man
of infinite
caution,
he
neglected
never the least
particular
of
preparation,
of
patient adaptation
;
yet
nevertheless he
had a sublime
confidence,
as in his
all,
in the sallies of the
courage,
and the faith in his
destiny,
which,
at the
right
moment,
repaired
all
losses,
axid demolished
cavalry,
in-
148 LITERARY ETHICS.
fantry, king,
and
kaisar,
as with irresistible
thunderbolts.
As
they say
the
bough
of the tree has the character of
the
leaf,
and the whole tree of the
bough,
so,
it is cari
ous to
remark,
Bonaparte
s
army partook
of this double
strength
of the
captain
; for,
whilst
strictly
supplied
in
all its
appointments,
and
everything expected
from the
valor and
discipline
of
every platoon,
in flank and
centre,
yet always
remained his total trust in the
prodigious
rev
olutions of
fortune,
which his reserved
Imperial
Guard
were
capable
of
working,
if,
in all
else,
the
day
was lost.
Here he was sublime. He no
longer
calculated the
chance of the cannon-ball. He was faithful to tactics
to the
uttermost,
and when all tactics had come to an
end, then,
he
dilated,
and availed himself of the
mighty
saltations of the most formidable soldiers in nature.
Let the scholar
appreciate
this combination of
gifts,
which,
applied
to better
purpose,
make true wisdom. He
is a revealer of
things.
Let him first learn the
things.
Let him
not,
too
eager
to
grasp
some
badge
of
reward,
omit the work to be done. Let him
know, that,
though
the success of the market is in the
reward,
true success is
the
doing
; that,
in the
private
obedience to his mind
;
in the sedulous
inquiry, day
after
day, year
after
year,
to
know how the
thing
stands
;
in the use of all
means,
and
most in the reverence of the humble commerce and hum
ble needs of
life,
to hearken what
they say,
and
so,
by
mutual reaction of
thought
and
life,
to make
thought
solid,
and life wise
;
and in a
contempt
for the
gabble
of
to-day
s
opinions,
the secret of the world is to be
learned,
and the skill
truly
to unfold it is
acquired.
Or, rather,
is it
not, that,
by
this
discipline,
the
usurpation
of the
LITERARY ETHICS. 149
senses is
overcome,
and the lower faculties of man are
subdued to
docility
;
through
which,
as an unobstructed
channel,
the soul now
easily
and
gladly
flows ?
The
good
scholar will not refuse to bear the
yoke
in
his
youth
;
to
know,
if he
can,
the uttermost secret of toil
and endurance
;
to make his own hands
acquainted
with
the soil
by
which he is
fed,
and the sweat that
goes
before
comfort and
luxury.
Let him
pay
his
tithe,
and serve
the world as a true and noble man
;
never
forgetting
to
worship
the immortal
divinities,
who
whisper
to the
poet,
and make him the utterer of melodies that
pierce
the eat
of eternal time. If he have this twofold
goodness,
the
drill and the
inspiration,
then he has health
;
then he
is a
whole,
and not a
fragment
;
and the
perfection
of his
endowment will
appear
in his
compositions.
Indeed,
this
twofold merit characterizes ever the
productions
of
great
masters. The man of
genius
should
occupy
the whole
space
between God or
pure
mind,
and the multitude of
uneducated men. He must draw from the infinite Rea
son,
on one side
;
and he must
penetrate
into the heart
and sense of the
crowd,
on the other. From
one,
he
must draw his
strength
;
to the
other,
he must owe his
aim. The one
yokes
him to the real
;
the
other,
to the
apparent.
At one
pole,
is Reason
;
at the
other,
Com
mon Sense. If he be defective at either extreme of the
scale,
his
philosophy
will seem low and utilitarian
;
or it
will
appear
too
vague
and indefinite for the uses of life.
The
student,
as we all
along
insist,
is
great only by
being passive
to the
superincumbent
spirit.
Let this
faith, then,
dictate all his action. Snares and bribes
abound to mislead him
;
let him be true nevertheless.
150 LITERAEY
ETHICS.
His success has its
perils
too. There is somewhat incon
venient and
injurious
in his
position.
They
whom his
thoughts
have entertained or
inflamed,
seek him
before
yet they
have learned the hard conditions of
thought.
They
seek
him,
that he
may
turn his
lamp
on the dark
riddles whose solution
they
think is inscribed on the walls
of their
being. They
find that he is a
poor, ignorant
man,
in a
white-seamed,
rusty
coat,
like
themselves,
no
wise
emitting
a continuous stream of
light,
but now and
then a
jet
of luminous
thought,
followed
by
total dark
ness
; moreover,
that he cannot make of his
infrequent
illumination a
portable taper
to
carry
whither he
would,
and
explain
now this dark
riddle,
now that. Sorrow en
sues. The scholar
regrets
to
damp
the
hope
of
ingen
uous
boys
;
and the
youth
has lost a star out of his new
flaming
firmament. Hence the
temptation
to the scholar
to
mystify
;
to hear the
question
;
to sit
upon
it
;
to
make an answer of
words,
in lack of the oracle of
things.
Not the less let him be cold and
true,
and wait in
pa
tience,
knowing
that truth can make even silence elo
quent
and memorable. Truth shall be
policy enough
for
him. Let him
open
his breast to all honest
inquiry,
and
be an artist
superior
to tricks of art. Show
frankly
as
a saint would
do,
your experience,
methods, tools,
and
means. Welcome all comers to the freest use of the
same. And out of this
superior
frankness and
charity,
you
shall learn
higher
secrets of
your
nature,
which
gods
will bend and aid
you
to communicate.
If,
with a
high
trust,
he can thus submit
himself,
he
will find that
ample
returns are
poured
into his
bosom,
out of what seemed hours of obstruction and loss. Let
UTEKARY ETHICS. 151
him not
grieve
too muck on account of unfit associates.
When he sees how much
thought
he owes to the disa
greeable antagonism
of various
persons
who
pass
and
cross
him,
he can
easily
think that in a
society
of
perfect
sympathy,
no
word,
no
act,
no
record,
would be. He
will
learn,
that it is not much matter what he
reads,
what he does. Be a
scholar,
and he shall have the schol
ar s
part
of
everything.
As,
in the
counting-room,
the
merchant cares little whether the
cargo
be hides or ba
rilla
;
the
transaction,
a letter of credit or a transfer of
stocks
;
be it what it
may,
his commission comes
gently
out of it
;
so
you
shall
get your
lesson out of the
hour,
and the
object,
whether it be a concentrated or a waste
ful
employment,
even in
reading
a dull
book,
or
working
off a stint of mechanical
day
labor,
which
your
necessi
ties or the necessities of others
impose.
Gentlemen,
I have ventured to offer
you
these consid
erations
upon
the scholar s
place
and
hope,
because I
thought,
that,
standing,
as
many
of
you
now
do,
on the
threshold of this
College, girt
and
ready
to
go
and as
sume
tasks,
public
and
private,
in
your country, you
would not be
sorry
to be admonished of those
primary
duties of the
intellect,
whereof
you
will seldom hear
from the
lips
of
your
new
companions.
You will hear
every day
the maxims of a low
prudence.
You will
hear,
that the first
duty
is to
get
land and
money, place
and name. "What is this Truth
you
seek ? what is
this
Beauty
?
"
men will
ask,
with derision.
If,
never
theless,
God have called
any
of
you
to
explore
truth and
beauty,
be
bold,
be
firm,
be true. When
you
shall
say,
152 LITEEARY
ETHICS.
"
As
others
do,
so will I : I
renounce,
I am
sorry
for
it,
my early
visions
;
I must eat the
good
of the
land,
and
let
learning
and romantic
expectations go,
until a more
convenient season
"
;
then dies the man in
you
;
then
once more
perish
the buds of
art,
and
poetry,
and sci
ence,
as
they
have died
already
in a thousand thousand
men. The hour of that choice is the crisis of
your
his
tory
;
and see that
you
hold
yourself
fast
by
the intel
lect.
It is this
domineering temper
of the sensual
world,
that creates the extreme need of the
priests
of science
;
and it is the office and
right
of the intellect to make
and not take its estimate. Bend to the
persuasion
which
is
flowing
to
you
from
every object
in
nature,
to be its
tongue
to the heart of
man,
and to show the besotted
world how
passing
fair is wisdom. Forewarned that the
vice of the times and the
country
is an excessive
preten
sion,
let us seek the
shade,
and find wisdom in
neglect.
Be content with a little
light,
so it be
your
own. Ex
plore,
and
explore.
Be neither chided nor flattered out
of
your position
of
perpetual inquiry.
Neither
dogma
tize,
nor
accept
another s
dogmatism. Why
should
you
renounce
your right
to traverse the star-lit deserts of
truth,
for the
premature
comforts of an
acre, house,
and
barn ? Truth also has its
roof,
and
bed,
and board.
Make
yourself necessary
to the
world,
and mankind will
give you
bread,
and if not store of
it,
yet
such as shall
not take
away your property
in all men s
possessions,
in
all men s
affections,
in
art,
in
nature,
and in
hope.
You will not
fear,
that I am
enjoining
too stern an
asceticism.
Ask
not,
Of what use is a
scholarship
that
systematically
retreats ?
or,
Who is the better for the
LITERARY ETHICS. 153
philosopher
who conceals his
accomplishments,
and hides
his
thoughts
from the
waiting
world? Hides his
thoughts!
Hide the sun and moon.
Thought
is all
light,
and
publishes
itself to the universe. It will
speak, though you
were
dumb,
by
its own miraculous
organ.
It will flow out of
your
actions,
your
manners,
and
your
face. It will
bring you friendships.
It will
impledge you
to truth
by
the love and
expectation
of
generous
minds.
By
virtue of the laws of that
Nature,
which is one and
perfect,
it shall
yield every
sincere
good
that is in the
soul,
to the scholar beloved of earth and
heaven.
THE METHOD OF NATURE.
AN ORATION DELIVERED BEFORE THE SOCIETY OF THIS
ADELPHI,
IN WATERVILLE
COLLEGE, MAINE,
AUGUST
11,
1841.
THE METHOD OF NATUEE.
GENTLEMEN :
Let us
exchange congratulations
on the
enjoyments
and the
promises
of this
literary anniversary.
The land
we live in has no interest so
dear,
if it knew its
want,
as the fit consecration of
days
of reason and
thought.
Where there is no
vision,
the
people perish.
The schol
ars are the
priests
of that
thought
which establishes
the foundations of the earth. No matter what is their
special
work or
profession,
they
stand for the
spiritual
interest of the
world,
and it is a common
calamity
if
they
neglect
their
post
in a
country
where the material in
terest is so
predominant
as it is in America. We hear
something
too much of the results of
machinery,
com
merce,
and the useful arts. We are a
puny
and a fickle
folk.
Avarice, hesitation,
and
following
are our diseases.
The
rapid
wealth which hundreds in the
community
ac
quire
in
trade,
or
by
the incessant
expansions
of our
population
and
arts,
enchants the
eyes
of all the rest
;
the luck of one is the
hope
of
thousands,
and the bribe
acts like the
neighborhood
of a
gold-mine
to
impoverish
the
farm,
the
school,
the
church,
the
house,
and the
very
body
and feature of man.
I do not wish to look with sour
aspect
at the industri
ous
manufacturing village,
cr the mart of
commerce.
I
158 THE METHOD OF
NATURE.
love the music of the water-wheel
;
I value the
railway
;
I feel the
pride
which the
sight
of a
ship inspires
;
I look
on trade and
every
mechanical craft as education also.
But let me discriminate
what is
precious
herein. There
is in each of these works an act of
invention,
an intellec
tual
step,
or short series of
steps
taken
;
that act or
step
is the
spiritual
act
;
all the rest is mere
repetition
of the
same a thousand times. And I will not be deceived into
admiring
the routine of handicrafts and
mechanics,
how
splendid
soever the
result,
any
more than I admire the
routine of the scholars or clerical class. That
splendid
results ensue from the labors of
stupid
men,
is the fruit
of
higher
laws than their
will,
and the routine is not to
be
praised
for it. I would not have the laborer sacrificed
to the
result,
I would not have the laborer sacrificed
to
my
convenience and
pride,
nor to that of a
great
class
of such as me. Let there be worse cotton and better
men. The weaver should not be bereaved of his
superi
ority
to his
work,
and his
knowledge
that the
product
or the skill is of no
value,
except
so far as it embodies
his
spiritual prerogatives.
If I see
nothing
to admire
in the
unit,
shall I admire a million units ? Men stand
in awe of the
city,
but do not honor
any
individual citi
zen
;
and are
continually yielding
to this
dazzling
result
of
numbers,
that which
they
would never
yield
to the
solitary example
of
any
one.
Whilst the multitude of men
degrade
each
other,
and
give currency
to
desponding
doctrines,
the scholar must
be a
bringer
of
hope,
and must reinforce man
against
him
self. I sometimes believe that our
literary
anniversaries
will
presently
assume a
greater importance,
as the
eyes
THE METHOD OP NATURE. 159
of men
open
to their
capabilities.
Here,
a new set of
distinctions,
a new order of
ideas,
prevail.
Here,
we set
a bound to the
respectability
of
wealth,
and a bound to
the
pretensions
of the law and the church. The
bigot
must cease to be a
bigot to-day.
Into our charmed cir
cle,
power
cannot
enter;
and the sturdiest defender of
existing
institutions feels the terrific
inflammability
of
this air which condenses heat in
every
corner that
may
restore to the elements the fabrics of
ages. Nothing
solid is
secure;
everything
tilts and rocks. Even the
scholar is not safe
;
he too is searched and revised. Is
his
learning
dead ? Is he
living
in his
memory
? The
power
of mind is not
mortification,
but life. But come
forth,
thou curious child !
hither,
thou
loving, all-hoping
poet
!
hither,
thou
tender,
doubting
heart,
which hast not
yet
found
any place
in the world s market fit for
thee;
any
wares which thou couldst
buy
or
sell,
so
large
is
thy
love and
ambition,
thine and not theirs is the
hour. Smooth
thy
brow,
and
hope
and love
on,
for the
kind Heaven
justifies
thee,
and the whole world feels that
thou art in the
right.
We
ought
to celebrate this hour
by expressions
of
manly joy.
Not
thanks,
not
prayer,
seem
quite
the
high
est or truest name for our communication with the infi
nite,
but
glad
and
conspiring reception,
reception
that becomes
giving
in its
turn,
as the receiver is
only
the All-Giver in
part
and in
infancy.
I cannot nor
can
any
man
speak precisely
of
things
so
sublime,
but
it seems to
me,
the wit of
man,
his
strength,
his
grace,
his
tendency,
his
art,
is the
grace
and the
presence
of
God. It is
beyond explanation.
When all is said and
160
THE METHOD OF NATURE.
done,
the
rapt
saint is found the
only logician.
Not
exhortation,
not
argument,
becomes our
lips,
but
peeans
of
joy
and
praise.
But not of adulation : we are too
nearly
related in the
deep
of the mind to that we honor.
It is God in us which checks the
language
of
petition
by
a
grander
thought.
In the bottom of the heart it is
said : "I
am,
and
by
me,
O child ! this fair
body
and
world of thine stands and
grows.
I am
;
all
things
are
mine : and all mine are thine."
The
festival of the
intellect,
and the return to its
source,
cast a
strong light
on the
always interesting
topics
of Man and Nature. We are
forcibly
reminded
of the old want. There is no man
;
there hath never
been. The Intellect
still asks that a man
may
be born.
The flame of life flickers
feebly
in human breasts. We
demand of men a richness and
universality
we do not
find. Great men do not content us. It is their soli
tude,
not their
force,
that makes them
conspicuous.
There is somewhat
indigent
and tedious about them.
They
are
poorly
tied to one
thought.
If
they
are
prophets,
they
are
egotists
;
if
polite
and
various,
they
are shallow. How
tardily
men arrive at
any
result ! how
tardily they pass
from it to another ! The
crystal sphere
of
thought
is as concentrical as the
geological
structure
of the
globe.
As our soils and rocks lie in
strata,
con
centric
strata,
so do all men s
thinkings
run
laterally,
never
vertically.
Here comes
by
a
great inquisitor
with
auger
and
plumb-line,
and will bore an Artesian well
through
our conventions and
theories,
and
pierce
to the
core of
things.
But as soon as he
probes
the
crust,
behold
gimlet, plumb-line,
and
philosopher
take a lateral
THE
METHOD
OF NATURE.
161
direction,
in
spite
of all
resistance,
as if some
strong
wind took
everything
off its
feet,
and if
you
corne mouth
after month to see what
progress
our reformer has
made,
not an inch has he
pierced, you
still find him with
new words in the old
place, flitting
about in new
parts
of the same old vein or crust. The new book
says,
"
I
will
give you
the
key
to
nature,"
and we
expect
to
go
like a thunderbolt to the centre. But the thunder is a
surface
phenomenon,
makes a
skin-deep
cut,
and so does
the
sage.
The
wedge
turns out to be a rocket. Thus
a man lasts but a
very
little
while,
for his
monomania
becomes
insupportably
tedious in a few months. It is
so with
every
book and
person
: and
yet
and
yet
we do not take
up
a new
book,
or meet a new
man,
with
out a
pulse-beat
of
expectation.
And this invincible
hope
of a more
adequate interpreter
is the sure
predic
tion of his advent.
In the absence of
man,
we turn to
nature,
which
stands next. In the divine
order,
intellect is
primary
;
nature,
secondary
;
it is the
memory
of the mind. That
which once existed in intellect as
pure
law has now
taken
body
as Nature. It existed
already
in the mind
in solution
; now,
it has been
precipitated,
and the
bright
sediment is the world. We can never be
quite
strangers
or interiors in nature. It is flesh of our
flesh,
and bone
of our bone. But we no
longer
hold it
by
the hand
;
we have lost our miraculous
power
;
our arm is no
more
as
strong
as the frost
;
nor our will
equivalent
to
gravity
and the elective
attractions. Yet we can use nature as
a convenient
standard,
and the meter of our rise and
fall. It has this
advantage
as a
witness,
it cannot be
K
162 THE METHOD OF NATURE.
debauched. When man
curses,
nature still testifies to
truth and love. We
may,
therefore,
safely study
the
mind in
nature,
because we cannot
steadily gaze
on it in
mind
;
as we
explore
the face of the sun in a
pool,
when
our
eyes
cannot brook his direct
splendors.
It seems to
me, therefore,
that it were some suitable
paean,
if we should
piously
celebrate this hour
by explor
ing
the method
of
nature. Let us see
that,
as
nearly
as
we
can,
and
try
how far it is transferable to the
literary
life.
Every
earnest
glance
we
give
to the realities
around
us,
with intent to
learn,
proceeds
from a
holy
impulse,
and is
really songs
of
praise.
What difference
can it make whether it take the
shape
of
exhortation,
or of
passionate
exclamation,
or of scientific statement ?
These are forms
merely. Through
them,
we
express,
at
last,
the fact that God has done thus or thus.
In
treating
a
subject
so
large,
in which we must neces
sarily appeal
to the
intuition,
and aim much more to
suggest,
than to
describe,
I know it is not
easy
to
speak
with the
precision
attainable on
topics
of less
scope.
I
do not
wish,
in
attempting
to
paint
a
man,
to describe an
air-fed,
unimpassioned, impossible ghost. My eyes
and
ears are revolted
by any neglect
of the
physical
facts,
the
limitations of man. And
yet
one who conceives the true
order of
nature,
and beholds the visible as
proceeding
from the
invisible,
cannot state his
thought,
without
seeming
to those who
study
the
physical
laws,
to do
them some
injustice.
There is an intrinsic defect in the
organ. Language
overstates. Statements of the infi
nite are
usually
felt to be
unjust
to the
finite,
and blas
phemous. Empedocles undoubtedly spoke
a truth of
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 163
thought,
when he
said,
"
I am God
"
;
but the moment
it was out of his
mouth,
it became a lie to the ear
;
and
the world
revenged
itself for the
seeming arrogance, by
the
good story
about his shoe. How can I
hope
for
better
hap
in
my attempts
to enunciate
spiritual
facts ?
Yet let us
hope,
that as far as we receive the
truth,
so far
shall we be felt
by every
true
person
to
say
what is
just.
The -method of nature : who could ever
analyze
it ?
That
rushing
stream will not
stop
to be observed. We
can never
surprise
nature in a corner
;
never find the end
of a thread
;
never tell where to set the first stone. The
bird hastens to
lay
her
egg
: the
egg
hastens to be a
bird. The wholeness we admire in the order of the
world,
is the result of infinite distribution. Its smooth
ness is the smoothness of the
pitch
of the cataract. Its
permanence
is a
perpetual
inchoation.
Every
natural
fact is an
emanation,
and that from which it
emanates is
an emanation
also,
and from
every
emanation is a new
emanation. If
anything
could stand
still,
it would be
crushed and
dissipated by
the torrent it
resisted,
and if it
were a
mind,
would be crazed
;
as insane
persons
are
those who hold fast to one
thought,
and do not flow with
the course of nature. Not the
cause,
but an ever novel
effect,
nature descends
always
from above. It is un
broken
obedience. The
beauty
of these fair
objects
is
imported
into them from a
metaphysical
and eternal
spring.
In all animal and
vegetable
forms,
the
physi
ologist
concedes that no
chemistry,
no
mechanics,
can
account for the
facts,
but a
mysterious
principle
of life
must be
assumed,
which not
only
inhabits the
organ,
but
makes the
organ.
164 THE METHOD OF NATURE.
How
silent,
how
spacious,
what room for
all,
yet
with,
out
place
to insert an
atom,
in
graceful
succession,
in
equal
fulness,
in balanced
beauty,
the dance of the hours
goes
forward still. Like an odor of
incense,
like a strain
of
music,
like a
sleep,
it is inexact and boundless. It
will not be
dissected,
nor
unravelled,
nor shown.
Away,
profane philosopher
! seekest thou in nature the cause ?
This refers to
that,
and that to the
next,
and the next
to the
third,
and
everything
refers. Thou must ask in
another
mood,
thou must feel it and love
it,
thou must
behold it in a
spirit
as
grand
as that
by
which it
exists,
ere thou canst know the law. Known it will not
be,
but
gladly
beloved and
enjoyed.
The simultaneous life
throughout
the whole
body,
the
equal serving
of innumerable ends without the least em
phasis
or
preference
to
any,
but the
steady degradation
of each to the success of
all,
allows the
understanding
no
place
to work. Nature can
only
be conceived as
existing
to a universal and not to a
particular
end,
to a universe
of
ends,
and not to
one,
a work of
ecstasy,
to be
repre
sented
by
a circular
movement,
as intention
might
be
signified by
a
straight
line of definite
length.
Each effect
strengthens every
other. There is no revolt in all the
kingdoms
from the commonweal : no detachment of an
individual. Hence the catholic character which makes
every
leaf an
exponent
of the world. When we behold
the
landscape
in a
poetic spirit,
we do not reckon indi
viduals. Nature knows neither
palm
nor
oak,
but
only
vegetable
life,
which
sprouts
into
forests,
and festoons
the
globe
with a
garland
of
grasses
and vines.
That no
single
end
may
be
selected,
and nature
judged
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 165
thereby, appears
from
this,
that if man himself be consid
ered as the
end,
and it be assumed that the final cause
of the world is to make
holy
or wise or beautiful
men,
we see that it has not succeeded. Read
alternately
in
natural and in civil
history,
a treatise of
astronomy,
for
example,
with a volume of French Memoires
pour
servir.
When we have
spent
our wonder in
computing
this
wasteful
hospitality
with which boon Nature turns off
new firmaments without end into her wide
common,
as
fast as the
madrepores
make
coral,
suns and
planets
hospitable
to
souls,
and then shorten the
sight
to look
into this court of Louis
Quatorze,
and see the
game
that is
played
there,
duke and
marshal,
abbe and
madame,
a
gambling-table
where each is
laying traps
for the
other,
where the end is ever
by
some lie or fetch to outwit
your
rival and ruin him with this solemn
fop
in
wig
and
stars,
the
king
;
one can
hardly help asking
if this
planet
is
a fair
specimen
of the so
generous astronomy,
and if
so,
whether the
experiment
have not
failed,
and whether it
be
quite
worth while to make
more,
and
glut
the inno
cent
space
with so
poor
an article.
I think we feel not much otherwise
if,
instead of be
holding
foolish
nations,
we take the
great
and wise
men,
the eminent
souls,
and
narrowly inspect
their
biography.
None of them seen
by
himself,
and his
performance
compared
with his
promise
or
idea,
will
justify
the cost
of that enormous
apparatus
of means
by
which this
spot
ted and defective
person
was at last
procured.
To
questions
of this
sort,
Nature
replies,
"
I
grow."
All is
nascent,
infant. When we are dizzied with the
arithmetic of the savant
toiling
to
compute
the
length
of
166 THE METHOD OF NATUEE.
her
line,
the return of her
curve,
we are steadied
by
the
perception
that a
great
deal is
doing
;
that all seems
just
begun
;
remote aims are in active
accomplishment.
We
can
point
nowhere to
anything
final
;
but
tendency ap
pears
on all hands :
planet, system, constellation,
total
nature is
growing
like a field of maize in
July
;
is becom
ing
somewhat else
;
is in
rapid
metamorphosis.
The em
bryo
does not more strive to be
man,
than
yonder
burr
of
light
we call a nebula tends to be a
ring,
a
comet,
a
globe,
and
parent
of new stars.
Why
should not then
these messieurs of Versailles strut and
plot
for tabourets
and
ribbons,
for a
season,
without
prejudice
to their fac
ulty
to run on better errands
by
and
by
?
But Nature seems further to
reply
:
"
I have ventured
so
great
a stake as
my
success,
in no
single
creature. I
have not
yet
arrived at
any
end. The
gardener
aims to
produce
a fine
peach
or
pear,
but
my
aim is the health of
the whole
tree, root, stem, leaf, flower,
and
seed,
and
by
no means the
pampering
of a monstrous
pericarp
at the
expense
of all the other functions."
In
short,
the
spirit
and
peculiarity
of that
impression
Nature makes on us is
this,
that it does not exist to
any
one or to
any
number of
particular
ends,
but to number
less and endless benefit
;
that there is in it no
private
will,
no rebel leaf or
limb,
but the whole is
oppressed by
one
superincumbent tendency, obeys
that
redundancy
or
excess of life which in conscious
beings
we call
ecstasy.
With this
conception
of the
genius
or method of na
ture,
let us
go
back to man. It is
true,
he
pretends
to
give
account of himself to
himself,
but at
last,
what has
he to recite but the fact that there is a Life not to be de-
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 167
scribed or known otherwise than
by possession
? What
account can he
give
of his essence more than so it was
to be ? The
royal
reason,
the Grace of
God,
seems the
only description
of our multiform but ever identical fact.
There is
virtue,
there is
genius,
there is
success,
or there
is not. There is the
incoming
or the
receding
of God :
that is all that we can affirm
;
and we can show neither
how nor
why.
Self-accusation, remorse,
and the didactic
morals of self-denial and strife with
sin,
are in the view
we are constrained
by
our constitution to take of the fact
seen from the
platform
of action
;
but seen from the
plat
form of
intellection,
there is
nothing
for us but
praise
and wonder.
The termination of the world in a man
appears
to be
the last
victory
of
intelligence.
The universal does not
attract us until housed in an individual. Who heeds the
waste
abyss
of
possibility
? The ocean is
everywhere
the
same,
but it has no character until seen with the shore
or the
ship.
Who would value
any
number of miles of
Atlantic brine bounded
by
lines of latitude and
longitude
?
Confine it
by granite
rocks,
let it wash a shore where
wise men
dwell,
and it is filled with
expression
;
and the
point
of
greatest
interest is where the land and water
meet. So must we admire in
man,
the form of the form
less,
the concentration of the
vast,
the house of
reason,
the cave of
memory.
See the
play
of
thoughts
! what
nimble
gigantic
creatures are these ! what
saurians,
what
palaiotheria
shall be named with these
agile
movers ?
The
great
Pan of
old,
who was clothed in a
leopard-skin
to
signify
the beautiful
variety
of
things,
and the firma
ment,
his coat of
stars,
was but the
representative
of
168 THE METHOD OF
NATURE.
thee,
rich and various Man ! thou
palace
of
sight
and
sound,
carrying
in
thy
senses the
morning
and the
night
and the unfathomable
galaxy
;
in
thy
brain,
the
geometry
of the
City
of God
;
in
thy
heart,
the bower of love and
the realms of
right
and
wrong.
An individual man is a
fruit which it cost all the
foregoing ages
to form and
ripen.
The
history
of the
genesis
or the old
mythology
repeats
itself in the
experience
of
every
child. He too
is a demon or
god
thrown into a
particular
chaos,
where
he strives ever to lead
things
from disorder into order.
Each individual soul is
such,
in virtue of its
being
a
power
to translate the world into some
particular language
of
its own
;
if not into a
picture,
a
statue,
or a
dance,
why,
then,
into a
trade,
an
art,
a
science,
a mode of liv
ing,
a
conversation,
a
character,
an influence. You ad
mire
pictures,
but it is as
impossible
for
you
to
paint
a
right picture,
as for
grass
to bear
apples.
But when
the
genius
comes,
it makes
fingers
: it is
pliancy,
and the
power
of
transferring
the affair in the street into oils and
colors.
Raphael
must be
born,
and Salvator must be
born.
There is no attractiveness like that of a new man.
The
sleepy
nations are
occupied
with their
political
rou
tine.
England,
France,
and America read
Parliamentary
Debates,
which no
high genius
now
enlivens;
and no
body
will read them who trusts his own
eye
:
only they
who are deceived
by
the
popular repetition
of distin
guished
names. But when
Napoleon
unrolls his
map,
the
eye
is commanded
by original power.
When Chat
ham leads the
debate,
men
may
well
listen,
because
they
must listen. A
man,
a
personal ascendency,
is the
only
THE METHOD OF
NATURE. 169
great phenomenon.
When Nature has work to be
done,
she creates a
genius
to do it. Follow the
great
man,
and
you
shall see what the world has at heart in these
ages.
There is no omen like that.
But what strikes us in the fine
genius
is that which
belongs
of
right
to
every
one. A man should know him
self for a
necessary
actor. A link was
wanting
between
two
craving parts
of
nature,
and he was hurled into be
ing
as the
bridge
over that
yawning
need,
the mediator
betwixt two else
unmarriageable
facts. His two
parents
held each of them one,
of the
wants,
and the union of
foreign
constitutions in him enables him to do
gladly
and
gracefully
what the assembled human race could not have
sufficed to do. He knows his materials
;
he
applies
him
self to his work
;
he cannot
read,
or
think,
or
look,
but
he unites the hitherto
separated
strands into a
perfect
cord. The
thoughts
he
delights
to utter are the reason
of his incarnation? Is it for him to account himself
cheap
and
superfluous,
or to
linger by
the
wayside
for
opportunities?
Did he not come into
being
because
something
must be done which he and no other is and
does ? If
only
he
sees,
the world will be visible
enough.
He need not
study
where to
stand,
nor to
put things
in
favorable
lights
;
in him is the
light,
from him all
things
are illuminated to their centre. What
patron
shall he
ask for
employment
and reward ? Hereto was he
born,
to deliver the
thought
of his heart from the universe to
the
universe,
to do an office which nature could not
forego,
nor he be
discharged
from
rendering,
and then
immerge again
into the
holy
silence and
eternity
out of
which as a man he
arose. God is
rich,
and
many
more
170
THE METHOD OF NATURE.
men than one he harbors in his
bosom,
biding
their time
and the needs and the
beauty
of all. Is not this the
theory
of
every
man s
genius
or
faculty
?
Why
then
goest
thou as some Boswell or
listening worshipper
to this saint
or to that ? That is the
only lese-majesty.
Here art
thou with whom so
long
the universe travailed in labor
;
darest thou think
meanly
of
thyself
whom the stalwart
Fate
brought
forth to unite his
ragged
sides,
to shoot the
gulf,
to reconcile the irreconcilable ?
Whilst a
necessity
so
great
caused the man to
exist,
his health and erectness consist in the
fidelity
with which
he transmits influences from the vast and universal to the
point
on which his
genius
can act. The ends are mo
mentary
:
they
are vents for the current of inward life
which increases as it is
spent.
A man s wisdom is to
know that all ends are
momentary,
that the best end
must be
superseded by
a better. But there is a mis
chievous
tendency
in him to transfer his
thought
from the
life to the
ends,
to
quit
his
agency
and rest in his acts :
the tools run
away
with the
workman,
the human with
the divine. I conceive a man as
always spoken
to from
behind,
and unable to turn his head and see the
speaker.
In all the millions who have heard the
voice,
none ever
saw the face. As children in their
play
run behind each
other,
and seize one
by
the ears and make him walk
before
them,
so is the
spirit
our unseen
pilot.
That
well-known voice
speaks
in all
languages,
governs
all
men,
and none ever
caught
a
glimpse
of its form. If
the man will
exactly obey
it,
it will
adopt
him,
so that
he shall not
any longer separate
it from himself in his
thought,
he shall seem to be
it,
he shall be it. If he
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 171
listen with insatiable
ears,
richer and
greater
wisdom is
taught
him,
the sound swells to a
ravishing
music,
he is
borne
away
as with a
flood,
he becomes careless of his
food and of his
house,
he is the drinker of
ideas,
and
leads a
heavenly
life. But if his
eye
is set on the
things
to be
done,
and not on the truth that is still
taught,
and
for the sake of which the
things
are to be
done,
then the
voice
grows
faint,
and at last is but a
humming
in his
ears. His health and
greatness
consist in his
being
the
channel
through
which heaven flows to
earth,
in
short,
in the fulness in which an ecstatical state takes
place
in
him. It is
pitiful
to be an
artist, when,
by forbearing
to
be
artists,
we
might
be vessels filled with the divine over
flowings,
enriched
by
the circulations of omniscience and
omnipresence.
Are there not moments in the
history
of
heaven when the human race was not counted
by
individ
uals,
but was
only
the
Influenced,
was God in distribu
tion,
God
rushing
into multiform benefit ? It is sublime
to
receive,
sublime to
love,
but this lust of
imparting
as
from
us,
this desire to be
loved,
the wish to be
recog
nized as
individuals,
is
finite,
comes of a lower strain.
Shall I
say,
then, that,
as far as we can trace the natu
ral
history
of the
soul,
its health consists in the fulness
of its
reception,
call it
piety,
call it
veneration,
in
the
fact,
that enthusiasm is
organized
therein. What is
best in
any
work of
art,
but that
part
which the work
itself seems to
require
and do
;
that which the man can
not do
again,
that which flows from the hour and the
occasion,
like the
eloquence
of men in a tumultuous
debate ? It was
always
the
theory
of
literature,
that the
word of a
poet
was
authoritative and final. He was
172 THE METHOD OF
NATURE.
supposed
to be the mouth of a divine wisdom. We
rather envied his circumstance than his talent. We too
could have
gladly prophesied standing
in that
place.
We so
quote
our
Scriptures
;
and the Greeks So
quoted
Homer,
Theognis,
Pindar,
and the rest. If the
theory
has receded out of modern
criticism,
it is because we
have not had
poets.
Whenever
they appear, they
will
redeem their own credit.
This ecstatical state seems to direct a
regard
to the
whole,
and not to the
parts
;
to the
cause,
and not to the
ends
;
to the
tendency,
and not to the act. It
respects
genius,
and not talent
;
hope,
and not
possession
;
the
anticipation
of all
things by
the
intellect,
and not the
history
itself; art,
and not works of
art;
poetry,
and
not
experiment
; virtue,
and not duties.
There is no office or function of man but is
rightly
discharged by
this divine
method,
and
nothing
that is not
noxious to him if detached from its universal relations.
Is it his work in the world to
study
nature,
or the laws
of the world ? Let him beware of
proposing
to himself
any
end. Is it for use ? nature is
debased,
as if one
looking
at the ocean can remember
only
the
price
of
fish. Or is it for
pleasure
? he is mocked : there is
a certain
infatuating
air in woods and mountains which
draws on the idler to want and
misery.
There is some
thing
social and intrusive in the nature of all
things;
they
seek to
penetrate
and
overpower,
each the nature
of
every
other
creature,
and itself alone in all modes
and
throughout space
and
spirit
to
prevail
and
possess.
Every
star in heaven is discontented and insatiable.
Gravitation and
chemistry
cannot content them. Ever
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 173
they
woo and court the
eye
of
every
beholder.
Every
man who comes into the world
they
seek to fascinate
and
possess,
to
pass
into his
mind,
for
they
desire to
republish
themselves in a more delicate world than that
they occupy.
It is not
enough
that
they
are
Jove,
Mars, Orion,
and the North
Star,
in the
gravitating
firmament:
they
would have such
poets
as
Newton,
Herschel,
and
Laplace,
that
they may
re-exist and re
appear
in the finer world of rational
souls,
and fill that
realm with their fame. So is it with all immaterial
objects.
These beautiful basilisks set their
brute,
glo
rious
eyes
on the
eye
of
every
child, and,
if
they
can,
cause their nature to
pass through
his
wondering eyes
into
him,
and so all
things
are mixed.
Therefore man must be on his
guard against
this
cup
of
enchantments,
and must look at nature with a
super
natural
eye. By piety
alone,
by conversing
with the
cause of
nature,
is he safe and commands it. And be
cause all
knowledge
is assimilation to the
object
of
knowledge,
as the
power
or
genius
of nature is
ecstatic,
so must its science or the
description
of it be. The
poet
must be a
rhapsodist;
his
inspiration
a sort of
bright
casualty
: his will in it
only
the surrender of will to the
Universal
Power,
which will not be seen face to
face,
but must be received and
sympathetically
known. It is
remarkable that we
have,
out of the
deeps
of
antiquity
in the oracles ascribed to the half-fabulous
Zoroaster,
a statement of this
fact,
which
every
lover and seeker of
truth will
recognize.
"
It is not
proper,"
said
Zoroaster,
"
to understand the
Intelligible
with
vehemence,
but if
you
incline
your
mind,
you
will
apprehend
it : not too
174
THE METHOD OF NATURE.
earnestly,
but
bringing
a
pure
and
inquiring eye.
You
will not understand it as when
understanding
some
par
ticular
thing,
but with the flower of the mind.
Things
divine are not attainable
by
mortals who understand
sensual
things,
but
only
the
light-armed
arrive at the
summit."
And because
ecstasy
is the law and cause of
nature,
therefore
you
cannot
interpret
it in too
high
and
deep
a sense. Nature
represents
the best
meaning
of the
wisest man. Does
the sunset
landscape
seem to
you
the
palace
of
Friendship,
those
purple
skies and
lovely
waters the
amphitheatre
dressed and
garnished only
for
the
exchange
of
thought
and love of the
purest
souls ?
It is that. All other
meanings
which base men have
put
on it are
conjectural
and false. You
"
cannot bathe
twice in the same
river,"
said
Heraclitus,
for it is
renewed
every
moment;
and I
add,
a man never sees
the same
object
twice : with his own
enlargement
the
object acquires
new
aspects.
Does not the same law hold for virtue ? It is vitiated
by
too much will. He who aims at
progress,
should aim
at an
infinite,
not at a
special
benefit. The reforms
whose fame now fills the land with
Temperance,
Anti-
slavery,
Non-Resistance,
No
Government,
Equal
Labor,
fair and
generous
as each
appears,
are
poor
bitter
things
when
prosecuted
for themselves as an end. To
every
reform in
proportion
to its
energy, early disgusts
are
incidents,
so that the
disciple
is
surprised
at the
very
hour of his first
triumphs,
with
chagrins,
and
sickness,
and a
general
distrust : so that he shuns his
associates,
hates the
enterprise
which
lately
seemed so
fair,
and
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 175
meditates
to cast himself into the arms of that
society
and manner
of life which he had
newly
abandoned with
so much
pride
and
hope.
Is it that he attached the
value of virtue to some
particular practices,
as,
the
denial of certain
appetites
in certain
specified
indul
gences,
and, afterward,
found himself still as wicked
and as far from
happiness
in that abstinence as he had
been m the abuse ? But the soul can be
appeased
not
by
a deed but
by
a
tendency.
It is in a
hope
that she
feels her
wings.
You shall love
rectitude,
and not the
disuse of
money
or the avoidance of trade
;
an unim
peded
mind,
and not a monkish diet
;
sympathy
and use
fulness,
and not
hoeing
or
coopering.
Tell me not how
great your project
is,
the civil liberation of the
world,
its conversion into a Christian
church,
the establishment
of
public
education,
cleaner
diet,
a new division of labor
and of
land,
laws of love for laws of
property
;
I
say
to
you plainly
there is no end to which
your practical
faculty
can
aim,
so sacred or so
large,
that,
if
pursued
ror
itself,
will not at last become carrion and an offence
to the nostril. The
imaginative
faculty
of the soul must
be fed with
objects
immense and eternal. Your end
should be one
inapprehensible
to the senses : then will it
be a
god always approached,
never touched
;
always
giving
health. A man
adorns himself with
prayer
and
love,
as an aim adorns an action. What is
strong
but
goodness,
and what is
energetic
but the
presence
of
a brave man ? The doctrine in
vegetable
physiology
of
the
presence,
or the
general
influence of
any
substance
over and above its chemical
influence,
as of an alkali or
a
living plant,
is more
predicable
of man. You need not
176 THE METHOD OF NATURE.
speak
to
me,
I need not
go
where
you
are,
that
you
should exert
magnetism
on me. Be
you only
whole and
sufficient,
and I shall feel
you
in
every part
of
my
life
and
fortune,
and I can as
easily dodge
the
gravitation
of
the
globe
as
escape your
influence.
But there are other
examples
of this total and su
preme
influence,
besides Nature and the conscience.
"From the
poisonous
tree,
the
world,"
say
the Brah
mins,
"two
species
of fruit are
produced,
sweet as the
waters of
life,
Love or the
society
of beautiful
souls,
and
Poetry,
whose taste is like the immortal
juice
of Vishnu."
What is
Love,
and
why
is it the chief
good,
but because
it is an
overpowering
enthusiasm ? Never
self-possessed
or
prudent,
it is all abandonment. Is it not a certain ad
mirable
wisdom,
preferable
to all other
advantages,
and
whereof all others are
only
secondaries and
indemnities,
because this is that in which the individual is no
longer
his own foolish
master,
but inhales an odorous and celes
tial
air,
is
wrapped
round with awe of the
object,
blend
ing
for the time that
object
with the real and
only good,
and consults
every
omen in nature with tremulous inter
est ? When we
speak truly,
is not he
only unhappy
who is not in love ? his fancied freedom and
self-rule,
is it not so much death ? He who is in love is vise
and is
becoming
wiser,
sees
newly every
time he looks at
the
object
beloved,
drawing
from it with his
eyes
and his
mind those virtues which it
possesses.
Therefore if the
object
be not itself a
living
and
expanding
soul,
he
pres
ently
exhausts it. But the love remains in his
mind,
and
the wisdom it
brought
him
;
and it craves a new and
higher
object.
And the reason
why
all men honor
love,
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 177
is because it looks
up
and not down
;
aspires
and not
despairs.
Aud what is Genius but finer
love,
a love
impersonal,
a love of the flower and
perfection
of
things,
and a de
sire to draw a new
picture
or
copy
of the same ? It
looks to the cause and life
;
it
proceeds
from within
outward,
whilst Talent
goes
from without inward. Tal
ent finds its
models, methods,
and ends in
society,
exists
for
exhibition,
and
goes
to the soul
only
for
power
to
work. Genius is its own
end,
and draws its means and
the
style
of its architecture from
within,
going
abroad
only
for
audience,
and
spectator,
as we
adapt
our voice
and
phrase
to the distance and character of the ear
we
speak
to. All
your learning
of all literatures would
never enable
you
to
anticipate
one of its
thoughts
or
expressions,
and
yet
each is natural and familiar as
household words. Here about us coils forever the an
cient
enigma,
so old and so unutterable. Behold ! there
is the
sun,
and the
rain,
and the rocks : the old
sun,
the
old stones. How
easy
were it to describe all this
fitly
;
yet
no word can
pass.
Nature is a
mute,
and
man,
her
articulate
speaking
brother,
lo ! he also is a mute. Yet
when Genius
arrives,
its
speech
is like a
river;
it has
no
straining
to
describe,
more than there is
straining
in
nature to exist. When
thought
is
best,
there is most of
it. Genius sheds wisdom like
perfume,
and advertises
us that it flows out of a
deeper
source than the
foregoing
silence,
that it knows so
deeply
and
speaks
so
musically,
because it is itself a mutation of the
thing
it describes.
It is sun and moon and wave and fire in
music,
as as
tronomy
is
thought
and
harmony
in masses of matter.
8* L
178
THE METHOD OF NATURE.
What is all
history
but the work of
ideas,
a record of
the
incomputable energy
which his infinite
aspirations
infuse into man ? Has
anything grand
and
lasting
been
done? Who did it?
Plainly
not
any
man,
but all
men : it was the
prevalence
and inundation of an idea.
What
brought
the
pilgrims
here ? One man
says,
civil
liberty
; another,
the desire of
founding
a church
;
and a third discovers that the motive force was
planta
tion and trade. But if the Puritans could rise from the
dust,
they
could not answer. It is to be seen in what
they
were,
and not in what
they designed
;
it was the
growth
and
expansion
of the human
race,
and resembled
herein the
sequent
Revolution,
which was not
begun
in
Concord,
or
Lexington,
or
Virginia,
but was the over
flowing
of the sense of natural
right
in
every
clear and
active
spirit
of the
period.
Is a man boastful and know
ing,
and his own master ? we turn from him without
hope
: but let him be filled with awe and dread before
the Yast and the
Divine,
which uses him
glad
to be
used,
and our
eye
is riveted to the chain of events.
What a debt is ours to that old
religion
which,
in the
childhood of most of
us,
still dwelt like a Sabbath morn
ing
in the
country
of New
England, teaching privation,
self-denial,
and sorrow ! A man was born not for
pros
perity,
but to suffer for the benefit of
others,
like the
noble
rock-maple
which all around our
villages
bleeds
for the service of man. Not
praise,
not men s
accept
ance of our
doing,
but the
spirit
s
holy
errand
through
us absorbed the
thought.
How
dignified
was this !
How all that is called talents and
success,
in our
noisy
capitals,
becomes buzz and din before this man-worthi-
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 179
ness! How our
friendships
and the
complaisances
we
use shame us now ! Shall we not
quit
our
companions,
as if
they
were thieves and
pot companions,
and betake
ourselves to some desert cliff of Mount
Katahdin,
some
unvisited recess in Moosehead
Lake,
to bewail our in-
nocency
and to recover
it,
and with it the
power
to
communicate
again
with these sharers of a more sacred
idea ?
And what is to
replace
for us the
piety
of that race ?
We cannot have theirs : it
glides away
from us
day by
day,
but we also can bask in the
great morning
which
rises forever out of the eastern
sea,
and be ourselves the
children of the
light.
I stand here to
say,
Let us wor
ship
the
mighty
and transcendent Soul. It is the
office,
I doubt
not,
of this
age
to annul that adulterous divorce
which the
superstition
of
many ages
has effected between
the intellect and holiness. The lovers of
goodness
have
been one
class,
the students of wisdom
another,
as if
either could exist in
any purity
without the other. Truth
is
always holy,
holiness
always
wise. I will that we
keep
terms with
sin,
and a sinful literature and
society,
no
longer,
but live a life of
discovery
and
performance.
Accept
the
intellect,
and it will
accept
us. Be the
lowly
ministers of that
pure
omniscience,
and
deny
it not be
fore men. It will burn
up
all
profane
literature,
all base
current
opinions,
all the false
powers
of the
world,
as in
a moment of time. I draw from nature the lesson of
any
intimate
divinity.
Our health and reason as men
needs our
respect
to this
fact,
against
the heedlessness
and
against
the contradiction of
society.
The
sanity
of
man needs the
poise
of this immanent force. His no-
180 THE METHOD OF NATURE.
bility
needs the assurance of this inexhaustible reserved
power.
How
great
soever have been its
bounties,
they
are a
drop
to the sea whence
they
flow. If
you say,
The
acceptance
of the vision is also the act of God :
I shall not seek to
penetrate
the
mystery,
I admit the
force of what
you say.
If
you
ask,
How can
any
rules
be
given
for the attainment of
gifts
so sublime ? I shall
only
remark that the solicitations of this
spirit,
as
long
as there is
life,
are never forborne.
Tenderly, tenderly,
they
woo and court us from
every object
in
nature,
from
every
fact in
life,
from
every thought
in the mind. The
one condition
coupled
with the
gift
of truth is its use.
That man shall be learned who reduceth his
learning
to
practice.
Emanuel
Swedenborg
affirmed that it was
opened
to
him,
"
that the
spirits
who knew truth in this
life,
but did it
not,
at death shall lose their
knowledge."
"If
knowledge,"
said Ali the
Caliph,
"calleth unto
prac
tice,
well
;
if
not,
it
goeth away."
The
only way
into
nature is to enact our best
insight. Instantly
we are
higher poets,
and can
speak
a
deeper
law. Do what
you
know,
and
perception
is converted into
character,
as
islands and continents were built
by
invisible
infusories,
or,
as these forest leaves absorb
light, electricity,
and
volatile
gases,
and the
gnarled
oak to live a thousand
years
is the arrest and fixation of the most volatile and
ethereal currents. The doctrine of this
Supreme
Pres<
ence is a
cry
of
joy
and exultation. Who shall dare think
he has come late into
nature,
or has missed
anything
excellent in the
past,
who seeth the admirable stars of
possibility,
and the
yet
untouched continent of
hope glit
tering
with all its mountains in the vast West ? I
praise
THE METHOD OF NATURE. 181
with wonder this
great reality,
which seems to drown all
things
in the
deluge
of its
light.
What
man,
seeing
this,
can lose it from his
thoughts,
or entertain a meaner sub
ject
? The entrance of this into his mind seems to be
the birth of man. We cannot describe the natural his
tory
of the
soul,
but we know that it is divine. I cannot
tell if these wonderful
qualities
which house
to-day
in
this mortal
frame,
shall ever reassemble in
equal activity
in a similar
frame,
or whether
they
have before had a
natural
history
like that of this
body you
see before
you
;
but this one
thing
I
know,
that these
qualities
did not
now
begin
to
exist,
cannot be sick with
my
sickness,
nor
buried in
any grave
;
but that
they
circulate
through
the Universe : before the world
was,
they
were. Noth
ing
can bar them
out,
or shut them
in,
they penetrate
the ocean and
land,
space
and
time,
form and
essence,
and hold the
key
to universal nature. I draw from this
faith
courage
and
hope.
All
things
are known to the
soul. It is not to be
surprised by any
communication.
Nothing
can be
greater
than it. Let those fear and
those fawn who will. The soul is in her native
realm,
and it is wider than
space,
older than
time,
wide as
hope,
rich as love.
Pusillanimity
and fear she refuses with a
beautiful scorn :
they
are not for her who
putteth
on her
coronation
robes,
and
goes
out
through
universal love to
universal
power.
MAN THE REFORMER.
A LECTUKE READ BEFORE THE MECHANICS APPRENTICES
LIBRARY
ASSOCIATION, BOSTON,
JANUARY
25,
1841.
MAN THE EEFOEMEE.
MR. PRESIDENT AND GENTLEMEN:
I wish to offer to
your
consideration some
thoughts
on
the
particular
and
general
relations of man as a reformer.
I shall assume that the aim of each
young
man in this
association is the
very highest
that
belongs
to a rational
mind. Let it be
granted
that our
life,
as we lead
it,
is
common and mean
;
that some of those offices and func
tions for which we were
mainly
created are
grown
so
rare in
society,
that the
memory
of them is
only kept
alive in old books and in dim traditions
;
that
prophets
and
poets,
that beautiful and
perfect
men,
we are not
now, no,
nor have even seen such
;
that some sources of
human instruction are almost unnamed and unknown
among
us;
that the
community
in which we live will
hardly
bear to be told that
every
man should be
open
to
ecstasy
or a divine
illumination,
and his
daily
walk ele
vated
by
intercourse with the
spiritual
world. Grant all
this,
as we
must,
yet
I
suppose
none of
my
auditors will
deny
that we
ought
to seek to establish ourselves in such
disciplines
and courses as will deserve that
guidance
and
clearer communication with the
spiritual
nature. And
further,
I will not dissemble
my hope,
that each
person
whom I address has felt his own call to cast aside all evil
customs, timidities,
and
limitations,
and to be in his
place
186
MAN THE
REFORMER.
a free and
helpful
man,
a
reformer,
a
benefactor,
not con
tent to
slip along through
the world like a footman or a
spy, escaping by
his nimbleness and
apologies
as
many
knocks as he
can,
but a brave and
upright
man,
who
must find or cut a
straight
road to
everything
excellent
on the
earth,
and not
only go honorably
himself,
but
make it easier for all who follow
him,
to
go
in honor and
with benefit.
In the
history
of the world the doctrine of Reform had
never such
scope
as at the
present
hour.
Lutherans,
Herrnhutters, Jesuits,
Monks,
Quakers, Knox,
Wesley,
Swedenborg,
Bentham,
in their accusations of
society,
all
respected something,
church or
state,
literature or
history,
domestic
usages,
the market
town,
the dinner-
table,
coined
money.
But now all these and all
things
else hear the
trumpet,
and must rush to
judgment,
Christianity,
the
laws, commerce, schools,
the
farm,
the
laboratory
;
and not a
kingdom,
town, statute, rite,
call
ing,
man,
or
woman,
but is threatened
by
the new
spirit.
What if some of the
objections whereby
our institu
tions are assailed are extreme and
speculative,
and the
reformers tend to idealism
;
that
only
shows the extrava
gance
of the abuses which have driven the mind into the
opposite
extreme. It is when
your
facts and
persons
grow
unreal and fantastic
by
too much
falsehood,
that
the scholar flies for
refuge
to the world of
ideas,
and
aims to
recruit and
replenish
nature from that source.
Let ideas establish their
legitimate sway again
in
society,
let life be fair and
poetic,
and the scholars will
gladly
be
lovers, citizens,
and
philanthropists.
MAN THE REFORMER.
187
It will afford no
security
from the new
ideas,
that the
old
nations,
the laws of
centuries,
the
property
and insti
tutions of a hundred
cities,
are built on other founda
tions. The demon of reform has a secret door into the
heart of
every
law-maker,
of
every
inhabitant of
every
city.
The fact that a new
thought
and
hope
have
dawned in
your
breast,
should
apprise you
that in the
same hour a new
light
broke in
upon
a thousand
private
hearts. That secret which
you
would fain
keep,
as
soon as
you go
abroad,
lo ! there is one
standing
on the
doorstep,
to tell
you
the same. There is not the most
bronzed and
sharpened money-catcher,
who does
not,
to
your
consternation,
almost
quail
and shake the moment
he hears a
question prompted by
the new ideas. We
thought
he had some semblance of
ground
to stand
upon,
that such as he at least would die hard
;
but he trembles
and flees. Then the scholar
says,
Cities and coaches
shall never
impose
on me
again
; for,
behold
every
soli
tary
dream of mine is
rushing
to fulfilment. That
fancy
I
had,
and hesitated to utter because
you
would
laugh,
lo,
the
broker,
the
attorney,
the market-man are
say
ing
the same
thing.
Had I waited a
day longer
to
speak,
I had been too late.
Behold,
State Street
thinks,
and
Wall Street
doubts,
and
begins
to
prophesy
!
It cannot be wondered
at,
that this
general inquest
into abuses should arise in the bosom of
society,
when
one considers the
practical impediments
that stand in the
way
of virtuous
young
men. The
young
man,
on enter
ing
life,
finds the
way
to lucrative
employments
blocked
with abuses. The
ways
of trade are
grown
selfish to
the borders of
theft,
and
supple
to the borders
(if
not
188 MAN THE REFORMER.
beyond
the
borders)
of fraud. The
employments
of com
merce are not
intrinsically
unfit for a
man,
or less
genial
to his
faculties,
but these are now in their
general
course
so vitiated
by
derelictions and abuses at which all con
nive,
that it
requires
more
vigor
and resources than can
be
expected
of
every young
man,
to
right
himself in
them
;
he is lost in them
;
he cannot move hand or foot
in them. Has he
genius
and virtue ? the less does he
find them fit for him to
grow in,
and if he would thrive
in
them,
he must sacrifice all the brilliant dreams of
boy
hood and
youth
as dreams
;
he must
forget
the
prayers
of his childhood
;
and must take on him the harness of
routine and
obsequiousness.
If not so
minded,
nothing
is left him but to
begin
the world
anew,
as he does who
puts
the
spade
into the
ground
for food. We are all im
plicated,
of
course,
in this
charge
;
it is
only necessary
to ask a few
questions
as to the
progress
of the articles
of
commerce from the fields where
they grew,
to our
houses,
to become aware that we eat and drink and wear
perjury
and fraud in a hundred commodities. How
many
articles of
daily consumption
are furnished us from
the West Indies
;
yet
it is
said, that,
in the
Spanish
islands,
the
venality
of the officers of the
government
has
passed
into
usage,
and that no article
passes
into our
ships
which has not been
fraudulently cheapened.
In the
Spanish
islands,
every agent
or factor of the
Americans,
unless he be a
consul,
has taken oath that he is a Cath
olic,
or has caused a
priest
to make that declaration for
him. The abolitionist has shown us our dreadful debt to
the Southern
negro.
In the island of
Cuba,
in addition
to the
ordinary
abominations of
slavery,
it
appears, only
MAN THE REFORMER. 189
men are
bought
for the
plantations,
and one dies in ten
every year,
of these miserable
bachelors,
to
yield
us
sugar.
I leave for those who have the
knowledge
the
part
of
sifting
the oaths of our custom-houses
;
I will
not
inquire
into the
oppression
of the sailors
;
I will not
pry
into the
usages
of our retail trade. I content
my
self with the
fact,
that the
general system
of our trade
(apart
from the blacker
traits, which,
I
hope,
are
excep
tions denounced and unshared
by
all
reputable men)
is a
system
of selfishness
;
is not dictated
by
the
high
senti
ments of human
nature;
is not measured
by
the exact
law of
reciprocity
;
much less
by
the sentiments of love
and
heroism,
but is a
system
of
distrust,
of
concealment,
of
superior
keenness,
not of
giving
but of
taking
advan
tage.
It is not that which a man
delights
to unlock to
a noble friend
;
which he meditates on with
joy
and self-
approval
in his hour of love and
aspiration
;
but rather
what he then
puts
out of
sight, only showing
the brilliant
result,
and
atoning
for the manner of
acquiring, by
the
manner of
expending
it. I do not
charge
the merchant
or the manufacturer. The sins of our trade
belong
to
no
class,
to no individual. One
plucks,
one
distributes,
one eats.
Everybody partakes, everybody
confesses,
with
cap
and knee volunteers his
confession,
yet
none
feels himself
accountable. He did not create the abuse
;
he cannot alter it. What is he ? an obscure
private per
son who must
get
his bread. That is the
vice,
that no
one feels himself called to act for
man,
but
only
as a
fraction of man. It
happens
therefore that all such in
genuous
souls as feel within themselves the
irrepressible
strivings
of a noble
aim,
who
by
the law of their nature
190 MAN THE
REFORMER.
must act
simply,
find these
ways
of trade unfit for
them,
and
they
come forth from it. Such cases are
becoming
more numerous
every year.
But
by coming
out of trade
you
have not cleared
yourself.
The trail of the
serpent
reaches into all the
lucrative
professions
and
practices
of man. Each has its
own
wrongs.
Each finds a tender and
very intelligent
conscience a
disqualification
for success. Each
requires
of the
practitioner
a certain
shutting
of the
eyes,
a cer
tain
dapperness
and
compliance,
an
acceptance
of cus
toms,
a
sequestration
from the sentiments of
generosity
and
love,
a
compromise
of
private opinion
and
integrity.
Nay,
the evil custom reaches into the whole institution
of
property,
until our laws which establish and
protect
it seem not to be the issue of love and
reason,
but of
selfishness.
Suppose
a man is so
unhappy
as to be born
a
saint,
with keen
perceptions,
but with the conscience
and love of an
angel,
and he is to
get
his
living
in the
world
;
he finds himself excluded from all lucrative
works
;
he has no
farm,
and he cannot
get
one
;
for,
to
earn
money enough
to
buy
one,
requires
a sort of con
centration toward
money,
which is the
selling
himself for
a number of
years,
and to him the
present
hour is as
sacred and inviolable as
any
future hour. Of
course,
whilst another man has no
land,
my
title to
mine,
your
title to
yours,
is at once vitiated. Inextricable seem to
be the
twinings
and tendrils of this
evil,
and we all in
volve ourselves in it the
deeper by forming
connections,
by
wives and
Children,
by
benefits and debts.
Considerations of this kind have turned the attention
of
many philanthropic
and
intelligent persons
to the
MAN THE REFORMER.
191
claims
of manual
labor,
as a
part
of the education of
every young
man. If the accumulated wealth of the
past
generations
is thus
tainted,
no matter how much
of it is offered to
us,
we must
begin
to consider if it
were not the nobler
part
to renounce
it,
and to
put
our
selves into
primary
relations with the soil and
nature,
and,
abstaining
from whatever is dishonest and
unclean,
to take each of us
bravely
his
part,
with his own
hands,
in the manual labor of the world.
But it is
said,
What ! will
you give up
the immense
advantages reaped
from the division of
labor,
and set
every
man to make his own
shoes, bureau, knife,
wagon,
sails,
and needle ? This would be to
put
men back into
barbarism
by
their own act. I see no instant
prospect
of a virtuous revolution
;
yet
I
confess,
I should not be
pained
at a
change
which threatened a loss of some of
the luxuries or conveniences of
society,
if it
proceeded
from a
preference
of the
agricultural
life out of the
belief that our
primary
duties as men could be better
discharged
in that
calling.
Who could
regret
to see a
high
conscience and a
purer
taste
exercising
a sensible
effect on
young
men in their choice of
occupation,
and
thinning
the ranks of
competition
in the labors of com
merce,
of
law,
and of state ? It is
easy
to see that the
inconvenience would last but a short time. This would
be
great
action,
which
always opens
the
eyes
of
men.
When
many persons
shall have done
this,
when the
majority
shall admit the
necessity
of reform in all these
institutions,
their abuses will be
redressed,
and the
way
will be
open again
to the
advantages
which arise from
the division of
labor,
and a man
may
select the fittest
192 MAN THE REFORMER.
employment
for his
peculiar
talent
again,
without com
promise.
But
quite apart
from the
emphasis
which the times
give
to the
doctrine,
that the manual labor of
society
ought
to be shared
among
all the
members,
there are
reasons
proper
to
every
individual,
why
he should not
be
deprived
of it. The use of manual labor is one which
never
grows
obsolete,
and which is
inapplicable
to no
person.
A man should have a farm or a mechanical
craft for his culture. We must have a basis for our
higher accomplishments,
our delicate entertainments
of
poetry
and
philosophy,
in the work of our hands. We
must have an
antagonism
in the
tough
world for all the
variety
of our
spiritual
faculties,
or
they
will not be
born. Manual labor is the
study
of the external world.
The
advantage
of riches remains with him who
procured
them,
not with the heir. When I
go
into
my garden
with a
spade,
and
dig
a
bed,
I feel such an exhilaration
and
health,
that I discover that I have been
defrauding
myself
all this time in
letting
others do for me what I
should have done with
my
own hands. But not
only
health,
but education is in the work. Is it
possible
that
I who
get
indefinite
quantities
of
sugar, hominy,
cotton,
buckets,
crockery-ware,
and
letter-paper, by simply sign
ing my
name once in three months to a check in favor of
John Smith &
Co., traders,
get
the fair share of exercise
to
my
faculties
by
that
act,
which nature intended for
me in
making
all these far-fetched matters
important
to
my
comfort ? It is Smith
himself,
and his
carriers,
and
dealers,
and
manufacturers,
it is the
sailor,
the hide-
drogher,
the
butcher,
the
negro,
the
hunter,
and the
MAN THE REFORMER. 193
planter,
who have
intercepted
the
sugar
of the
sugar,
and the cotton of the cotton.
They
have
got
the educa
tion,
I
only
the
commodity.
This were all
very
well if
I were
necessarily
absent,
being
detained
by
work of
my
own,
like
theirs,
work of the same faculties
;
then should
I be sure of
my
hands and
feet,
but now I feel some
shame before
my wood-chopper, my ploughman,
and
my
cook,
for
they
have some sort of
self-sufficiency, they
can contrive without
my
aid to
bring
the
day
and
year
round,
but I
depend
on
them,
and have not earned
by
use a
right
to
my
arms and feet.
Consider further the difference between the first and
second owner of
property. Every species
of
property
is
preyed
on
by
its own
enemies,
as iron
by
rust
;
timber
by
rot
;
cloth
by
moths
;
provisions by
mould,
putridity,
or vermin
;
money by
thieves
;
an orchard
by
insects
;
a
planted
field
by
weeds and the inroad of cattle
;
a stock
of cattle
by hunger
;
a road
by
rain and frost
;
a
bridge
by
freshets. And whoever takes
any
of these
things
into his
possession,
takes the
charge
of
defending
them
from this
troop
of
enemies,
or of
keeping
them in
repair.
A man who
supplies
his own
want,
who builds a raft or
a boat to
go a-fishing,
finds it
easy
to calk
it,
or
put
in a
thole-pin,
or mend the rudder. What he
gets only
as fast
as he wants for his own
ends,
does not embarrass
him,
or take
away
his
sleep
with
looking
after. But when
he comes to
give
all the
goods
he has
year
after
year
collected,
in one estate to his
son, house, orchard,
ploughed
land, cattle,
bridges,
hardware, wooden-ware,
carpets,
cloths,
provisions,
books,
money,
and cannot
give
him the skill and
experience
which made or col-
194
MAN THE
REFORMER.
lected
these,
and the method and
place they
have in his
own
life,
the son finds his hands
full,
not to use these
things,
but to look after them and defend them from
their natural enemies. To him
they
are not
means,
but
masters. Their enemies will not remit
; rust, mould,
vermin, rain, sun, freshet, fire,
all seize their
own,
fill
him with
vexation,
and he is converted from the owner
into a watchman or a
watch-dog
to this
magazine
of
old and new chattels. What a
change
! Instead of the
masterly good-humor,
and sense of
power,
and
fertility
of
resource in himself
;
instead of those
strong
and learned
hands,
those
piercing
and learned
eyes,
that
supple body,
and that
mighty
and
prevailing
heart,
which the father
had,
whom nature loved and
feared,
whom snow and
rain,
water and
land,
beast and
fish,
seemed all to know
and to
serve,
we have now a
puny, protected person,
guarded by
walls and
curtains,
stoves and down
beds,
coaches,
and men-servants and women-servants from
the earth and the
sky,
and
who,
bred to
depend
on all
these,
is made anxious
by
all that
endangers
those
pos
sessions,
and is forced to
spend
so much time in
guard
ing
them,
that he has
quite
lost
sight
of their
original
use,
namely,
to
help
him to his
ends,
to the
prose
cution of his love
;
to the
helping
of his
friend,
to the
worship
of his
God,
to the
enlargement
of his
knowledge,
to the
serving
of his
country,
to the
indulgence
of his
sentiment,
and he is now what is called a rich
man,
the menial and runner of his riches.
Hence it
happens
that the whole interest of
history
lies in the fortunes of the
poor. Knowledge,
Virtue,
Power,
are the victories of man over his
necessities,
his
MAN THE REFORMER. 195
march to the dominion of the world.
Every
man
ought
to have this
opportunity
to
conquer
the world for him
self.
Only
such
persons
interest
us,
Spartans,
Romans,
Saracens,
English,
Americans,
who have stood in the
jaws
of
need,
and have
by
their own wit and
might
ex
tricated
themselves,
and made man victorious.
I do not wish to overstate this doctrine of
labor,
or
insist that
every
man should be a
farmer,
any
more than
that
every
man should be a
lexicographer.
In
general,
one
may say,
that the husbandman s is the
oldest,
and
most universal
profession,
and that where a man does not
yet
discover in himself
any
fitness for one work more than
another,
this
may
be
preferred.
But the doctrine of the
Farm is
merely
this,
that
every
man
ought
to stand in
primary
relations with the work of the
world,
ought
to
do it
himself,
and not to suffer the accident of his
having
a
purse
in his
pocket,
or his
having
been bred to some
dishonorable and
injurious
craft,
to sever him from those
duties
;
and for this
reason,
that labor is God s educa
tion
;
that he
only
is a sincere
learner,
he
only
can be
come a
master,
who learns the secrets of
labor,
and who
by
real
cunning
extorts from nature its
sceptre.
Neither would I shut
my
ears to the
plea
of the
learned
professions,
of the
poet,
the
priest,
the
lawgiver,
and men of
study generally
;
namely,
that in the
experi
ence of all men of that
class,
the amount of manual labor
which is
necessary
to the maintenance of a
family
indis
poses
and
disqualifies
for intellectual
exertion. I know
it
often,
perhaps usually, happens,
that where there is a
fine
organization apt
for
poetry
and
philosophy,
that in
dividual finds himself
compelled
to wait on his
thoughts,
196 MAN THE REFORMER.
to waste several
days
that he
may
enhance and
glorify
one
;
and is better
taught by
a moderate and
dainty
exer
cise,
such as
rambling
in the
fields,
rowing, skating,
hunting,
than
by
the
downright drudgery
of the farmer
and the smith. I would not
quite forget
the venerable
counsel of the
Egyptian mysteries,
which declared that
"
there were two
pairs
of
eyes
in
man,
and it is
requisite
that the
pair
which are beneath should be
closed,
when
the
pair
that are above them
perceive,
and that when the
pair
above are
closed,
those which are beneath should be
opened."
Yet I will
suggest
that no
separation
from
labor can be without some loss of
power
and of truth to
the seer himself
; that,
I doubt
not,
the faults and vices
of our literature and
philosophy,
their too
great
fineness,
effeminacy,
and
melancholy,
are attributable to the ener
vated and
sickly
habits of the
literary
class. Better
that the book should not be
quite
so
good,
and the book
maker abler and
better,
and not himself often a ludicrous
contrast to all that he has written.
But
granting
that for ends so sacred and
dear,
some
relaxation must be
had,
I
think,
that if a man find in
himself
any strong
bias to
poetry,
to
art,
to the contem
plative
life,
drawing
him to these
things
with a devotion
incompatible
with
good husbandry,
that man
ought
to
reckon
early
with
himself, and,
respecting
the
compensa
tions of the
Universe,
ought
to ransom himself from the
duties of
economy, by
a certain
rigor
and
privation
in his
habits. For
privileges
so rare and
grand,
let him not
stint to
pay
a
great
tax. Let him be a
csenobite,
a
pau
per,
and if need
be,
celibate also. Let him learn to eat
his meals
standing,
and to relish the taste of fair water
MAN THE REFORMER. 197
and black bread. He
may
leave to others the
costly
con
veniences of
housekeeping,
and
large hospitality,
and
the
possession
of works of art. Let him feel that
genius
is a
hospitality,
and that he who can create works of art
needs not collect them. He must live in a
chamber,
and
postpone
his
self-indulgence,
forewarned and forearmed
against
that
frequent
misfortune of men of
genius,
the
taste for
luxury.
This is the
tragedy
of
genius,
at
tempting
to drive
along
the
ecliptic
with one horse of the
heavens and one horse of the
earth,
there is
only
discord
and ruin and downfall to chariot and charioteer.
The
duty
that
every
man should assume his own
vows,
should call the institutions of
society
to
account,
and
examine their fitness to
him,
gains
in
emphasis,
if we
look at our modes of
living.
Is our
housekeeping
sacred
and honorable"? Does it raise and
inspire
us,
or does it
cripple
us instead ? I
ought
to be armed
by every part
and function of
my
household,
by
all
my
social
function,
by my economy, by my feasting, by my voting, by my
traffic. Yet I am almost no
party
to
any
of these
things.
Custom does it for
me,
gives
me no
power
therefrom,
and runs me in debt to boot. We
spend
our incomes for
paint
and
paper,
for a hundred
trifles,
I know not
what,
and not for the
things
of a man. Our
expense
is almost
all for
conformity.
It is for cake that we run in debt
;
t is not the
intellect,
not the
heart,
not
beauty,
not wor
ship,
that costs so much.
Why
needs
any
man be rich ?
Why
must he have
horses,
fine
garments,
handsome
apartments,
access to
public
houses,
and
places
of amuse
ment ?
Only
for want of
thought.
Give his mind a new
image,
and he flees into a
solitary garden
or
garret
to
198 MAN THE REFORMER.
enjoy
it,
and is richer with that
dream,
than the fee of a
county
could make him. But we are first
thoughtless,
and then find that we are
moneyless.
We are first sen
sual,
and then must be rich. We dare not trust our wit
for
making
our house
pleasant
to our
friend,
and so we
buy
ice-creams. He is accustomed to
carpets,
and we
have not sufficient character to
put
floor-cloths out of his
mind whilst he
stays
in the
house,
and so we
pile
the
floor with
carpets.
Let the house rather be a
temple
of
the Furies of
Lacedsernon,
formidable and
holy
to
all,
which none but a
Spartan may
enter or so much as
behold. As soon as there is
faith,
as soon as there is
society,
comfits and cushions will be left to slaves. Ex
pense
will be inventive and heroic. We shall eat hard
and lie
hard,
we shall dwell like the ancient Romans
in
narrow
tenements,
whilst our
public
edifices,
like
theirs,
will be
worthy,
for their
proportion,
of the
landscape
in
which we set
them,
for
conversation,
for
art,
for
music,
for
worship.
We shall be rich to
great purposes
;
poor
only
for selfish ones.
Now what
help
for these evils ? How can the man
who has learned but one
art,
procure
all the conveniences
of life
honestly
? Shall we
say
all we think ?
Perhaps
with his own hands.
Suppose
he collects or makes them
ill
;
yet
he has learned their lesson. If he cannot do
that. Then
perhaps
he can
go
without. Immense wis
dom and riches are in that. It is better to
go
without,
than to have them at too
great
a cost. Let us learn the
meaning
of
economy. Economy
is a
high,
humane
office,
a
sacrament,
when its aim is
grand
;
when it is the
pru
dence of
simple
tastes,
when it is
practised
for
freedom,
MAN THE REFORMER. 199
or
love,
or devotion. Much of the
economy
which we
see in houses is of a base
origin,
and is best
kept
out of
sight.
Parched corn eaten
to-day
that I
may
have roast
fowl to
my
dinner on
Sunday,
is a baseness
;
but
parched
corn and a house with one
apartment,
that I
may
be free
of all
perturbations,
that I
may
be serene and docile to
what the mind shall
speak,
and
girt
and
road-ready
for
the lowest mission of
knowledge
or
good-will,
is
frugality
for
gods
and heroes.
Can we not learn the lesson of
self-help
?
Society
is full
of infirm
people,
who
incessantly
summon others to serve
them.
They
contrive
everywhere
to exhaust for their
single
comfort the entire means and
appliances
of that
luxury
to which our invention has
yet
attained.
Sofas,
ottomans, stoves, wine,
game-fowl, spices, perfumes,
rides,
the
theatre, entertainments,
all these
they
want,
they
need,
and whatever can be
suggested
more than
these,
they
crave
also,
as if it was the bread which should
keep
them from
starving
;
and if
they
miss
any
one,
they
represent
themselves as the most
wronged
and most
wretched
persons
on earth. One must have been born
and bred with them to know how to
prepare
a meal for
their learned stomach.
Meantime,
they
never bestir
themselves to serve another
person
;
not
they
!
they
have a
great
deal more to do for themselves than
they
can
possibly perform,
nor do
they
once
perceive
the cruel
joke
of their
lives,
but the more odious
they grow,
the
sharper
is the tone of their
complaining
and
craving.
Can
anything
be so
elegant
as to have few wants and to
serve them one s
self,
so as to have somewhat left to
give,
instead of
being always prompt
to
grab?
It is more
200 MAN THE
REFORMER.
elegant
to answer one s own
needs,
than to be
richly
served
;
inelegant perhaps
it
may
look
to-day,
and to a
few,
but it is an
elegance
forever and to all.
I do not wish to be absurd and
pedantic
in reform. I
do not wish to
push my
criticism on the state of
things
around me to that
extravagant
mark,
that shall
compel
me to
suicide,
or to an absolute isolation from the advan
tages
of civil
society.
If we
suddenly plant
our
foot,
and
say,
I will neither eat nor drink nor wear nor touch
any
food or fabric which I do not know to be
innocent,
or deal with
any person
whose whole manner of life is
not clear and
rational,
we shall stand still. Whose is so ?
Not mine
;
not thine
;
not his. But I think we must
clear ourselves each one
by
the
interrogation,
whether we
have earned our bread
to-day by
the
hearty
contribution
of our
energies
to the common benefit ? and we must not
cease to tend to the correction of
flagrant wrongs, by
laying
one stone
aright every day.
But the idea which now
begins
to
agitate society
has a
wider
scope
than our
daily employments,
our
households,
and the institutions of
property.
We are to revise the
whole of our social
structure,
the
state,
the
school,
relig
ion,
marriage,
trade, science,
and
explore
their founda
tions in our own nature
;
we are to see that the world
not
only
fitted the former
men,
but fits
us,
and to clear
ourselves of
every usage
which has not its roots in our
own mind. What is a man born for but to be a Re
former,
a Re-maker of what man has made
;
a renouncer
of lies
;
a restorer of truth and
good, imitating
that
great
Nature which embosoms us
all,
and which
sleeps
no mo
ment on an old
past,
but
every
hour
repairs
herself,
yield-
MAN THE REFORMER. 201
ing
us
every morning
a new
day,
and with
every pulsation
a new life ? Let him renounce
everything
which is not
true to
him,
and
put
all his
practices
back on their first
thoughts,
and do
nothing
for which he has not the whole
world for his reason. If there are
inconveniences,
and
what is called ruin in the
way,
because we have so ener
vated and maimed
ourselves,
yet
it would be like
dying
of
perfumes
to sink in the effort to re-attach the deeds of
every day
to the
holy
and
mysterious
recesses of life.
The
power,
which is at once
spring
and
regulator
in all
efforts of
reform,
is the conviction that there is an infinite
worthiness in man which will
appear
at the call of
worth,
and that all
particular
reforms are the
removing
of some
(
impediment.
Is it not the
highest duty
that man should
be honored in us ? I
ought
not to allow
any
man,
be
cause he has broad
lands,
to feel that he is rich in
my
presence.
I
ought
to make him feel that I can do with
out his
riches,
that I cannot be
bought,
neither
by
comfort,
neither
by pride,
and
though
I be
utterly
penniless,
and
receiving
bread from
him,
that he is the
poor
man beside me. And
if,
at the
same
time,
a woman
or a child
discovers a
sentiment of
piety,
or a
juster way
of
thinking
than
mine,
I
ought
to
confess it
by
my
re
spect
and
obedience,
though
it
go
to alter
my
whole
way
of life.
The
Americans
have
many virtues,
but
they
have not
Faith and
Hope.
I know no
two
words whose
meaning
is more lost
sight
of.
We use
these
words as if
they
were as
obsolete as Selah
and
Amen.
And
yet they
have
the
broadest
meaning,
and
the most
cogent
application
to
Boston in
this
year.
The
Americans have little faith.
202 MAN THE REFORMER.
They rely
on the
power
of a dollar
;
they
are deaf to a sen
timent.
They
think
you may
talk the north-wind down
as
easily
as raise
society
;
and no class more faithless than
the scholars or intellectual men. Now if I talk with a
sincere wise
man,
and
my
friend,
with a
poet,
with a con
scientious
youth
who is still under the dominion of his
own wild
thoughts,
and not
yet
harnessed in the team of
society
to
drag
with us all in the ruts of
custom,
I see at
once how
paltry
is all this
generation
of
unbelievers,
and
what a house of cards their institutions
are,
and I see
what one brave
man,
what one
great thought
executed
might
effect. I see that the reason of the distrust of
the
practical
man in all
theory
is his
inability
to
perceive
the means
whereby
we work.
Look,
he
says,
at the tools
with which this world of
yours
is to be built. As we
cannot make a
planet,
with
atmosphere,
rivers,
and for
ests,
by
means of the best
carpenters
or
engineers
tools,
with chemist s
laboratory
and smith s
forge
to
boot,
so
neither can we ever construct that
heavenly society you
prate
of,
out of
foolish, sick,
selfish men and
women,
such
as we know
them to be. But the believer not
only
be
holds his heaven
to be
possible,
but
already
to
begin
to
exist,
not
by
the
men or materials the statesman
uses,
but
by
men
transfigured
and
raised above themselves
by
the
power
of
principles.
To
principles
something
else is
possible
that transcends
all the
power
of
expedients.
Every great
and
commanding
moment
in the annals of
the world is the
triumph
of some enthusiasm.
The vic
tories of the Arabs
after
Mahomet, who,
in a few
years,
from a small and
mean
beginning,
established
a
larger
empire
than that of
Rome,
is an
example.
They
did
they
MAN THE REFORMER. 203
knew not what. The naked
Derar,
horsed on an
idea,
was found an overmatch for a
troop
of Roman
cavalry.
The women
fought
like
men,
and
conquered
the Roman
men.
They
were
miserably equipped, miserably
fed.
They
were
Temperance troops.
There was neither
brandy
nor flesh needed to feed them.
They conquered
Asia,
and
Africa,
and
Spain,
on
barley.
The
Caliph
Omar s
walking-stick
struck more terror into those who
saw
it,
than another man s sword. His diet was
barley
bread
;
his sauce was salt
;
and oftentimes
by way
of absti
nence he ate his bread without salt. His drink was
water.
His
palace
was built of mud
;
and when he left Medina to
go
to the
conquest
of
Jerusalem,
he rode on a red
camel,
with a wooden
platter hanging
at his
saddle,
with a bottle
of water and two
sacks,
one
holding barley,
and the other
dried fruits.
But there will dawn
erelong
on our
politics,
on our
modes of
living,
a nobler
morning
than that Arabian
faith,
in the sentiment of love. This is the one
remedy
for all
ills,
the
panacea
of nature. We must be
lovers,
and at once the
impossible
becomes
possible.
Our
age
and
history,
for these thousand
years,
has not been the
history
of
kindness,
but of selfishness. Our distrust is
very expensive.
The
money
we
spend
for courts and
prisons
is
very
ill laid out. We
make,
by distrust,
the
thief,
and
burglar,
and
incendiary,
and
by
our court and
jail
we
keep
him so. An
acceptance
of the sentiment of
love
throughout
Christendom for a
season,
would
bring
the felon and the outcast to our side in
tears,
with the
devotion of his faculties to our service. See this wide
society
of
laboring
men and women. We allow ourselves
204
MAN THE REFORMER.
to be served
by
them,
we live
apart
from
them,
and meet
them without a salute in the streets. We do not
greet
their
talents,
nor
rejoice
in their
good
fortune,
nor foster
their
hopes,
nor in the
assembly
of the
people
vote for
what is dear to them. Thus we enact the
part
of the
selfish noble and
king
from the foundation of the world.
See,
this tree
always
bears one fruit. In
every
house
hold,
the
peace
of a
pair
is
poisoned by
the
malice,
sly
ness, indolence,
and alienation of domestics. Let
any
two matrons
meet,
and observe how soon their conver
sation turns on the troubles from their
"
help,"
as our
phrase
is. In
every
knot of
laborers,
the rich man does
not feel himself
among
his
friends,
and at the
polls
he
finds them
arrayed
in a mass in distinct
opposition
to
him. We
complain
that the
politics
of masses of the
people
are controlled
by designing
men,
and led in
oppo
sition to manifest
justice
and the common
weal,
and to
their own interest. But the
people
do not wish to be
represented
or ruled
by
the
ignorant
and base.
They
only
vote for
these,
because
they
were asked with the
voice and semblance of kindness.
They
will not vote for
them
long. They inevitably prefer
wit and
probity.
To
use an
Egyptian metaphor,
it is not their will for
any
long
time
"
to raise the nails of wild
beasts,
and to de
press
the heads of the sacred birds." Let our affection
flow out to our fellows
;
it would
operate
in a
day
the
greatest
of all revolutions. It is better to work on insti
tutions
by
the sun than
by
the wind. The state must
consider the
poor
man,
and all voices must
speak
for him.
Every
child that is born must have a
just
chance
for his
bread. Let the amelioration
in our laws of
property
J
MAN THE REFORMER. 205
proceed
from the concession of the
rich,
not from the
grasping
of the
poor.
Let us
begin by
habitual
impart
ing.
Let us understand that the
equitable
rule
is,
that
no one should take more than his
share,
let him be ever
so rich. Let me feel that I am to be a lover. I am to i
see to it that the world is the better for
me,
and to find
j
my
reward in the act. Love would
put
a new face on this
weary
old world in which we dwell as
pagans
and enemies
too
long,
and it would warm the heart to see how fast the
vain
diplomacy
of
statesmen,
the
impotence
of
armies,
and
navies,
and lines of
defence,
would be
superseded by
this
unarmed child. Love will
creep
where it cannot
go,
will
accomplish
that
by imperceptible
methods,
being
its
own
lever, fulcrum,
and
power,
which force could
never achieve. Have
you
not seen in the
woods,
in a late
autumn
morning,
a
poor fungus
or
mushroom,
a
plant
without
any solidity, nay,
that seemed
nothing
but a soft
mush or
jelly, by
its
constant, total,
and
inconceivably
gentle pushing, manage
to break its
way up through
the
frosty ground,
and
actually
to lift a hard crust on its
head ? It is the
symbol
of the
power
of kindness. The
virtue of this
principle
in human
society
in
application
to
great
interests is obsolete and
forgotten.
Once or twice
in
history
it has been tried in illustrious
instances,
with
signal
success. This
great, overgrown,
dead
Christen
dom of ours still
keeps
alive at least the name of a lover
of mankind. But one
day
all men will be lovers
;
and
every calamity
will be dissolved in the
universal sunshine.
Will
you
suffer me to add one trait more to this
por
trait of man the reformer ? The mediator between the
spiritual
and the actual world should have a
great pro-
206 MAN THE REFORMER.
spective prudence.
An Arabian
poet
describes his hero
by saying,
"
Sunshine was he
In the winter
day
;
And in the midsummer
Coolness and shade."
He who would
help
himself and
others,
should not be
a
subject
of
irregular
and
interrupted impulses
of
virtue,
but a
continent,
persisting,
immovable
person,
such as
we have seen a few scattered
up
and down in time for
the
blessing
of the world
;
men who have in the
gravity
of their nature a
quality
which answers to the
fly-wheel
in a
mill,
which distributes the motion
equably
over all
the
wheels,
and hinders it from
falling unequally
and
suddenly
in destructive shocks. It is better that
joy
should be
spread
over all the
day
in the form of
strength,
than that it should be concentrated
into
ecstasies,
full of
danger
and followed
by
reactions. There is a sublime
prudence,
which is the
very highest
that we know of
man, which,
believing
in a vast
future,
sure of more to
come than is
yet
seen,
postpones
always
the
present
hour to the whole life
;
postpones
talent to
genius,
and
special
results to character. As
the merchant
gladly
takes
money
from his income to add to his
capital,
so is
the
great
man
willing
to lose
particular
powers
and tal
ents,
so that he
gain
in the elevation of his life. The
opening
of the
spiritual
senses
disposes
men ever to
greater
sacrifices,
to leave their
signal
talents,
their
means and skill of
procuring
a
present
success,
their
power
and their
fame,
to cast all
things
behind,
in the
insatiable thirst for divine communications.
A
purer
MAN THE
REFORMER.
207
fame,
a
greater power,
rewards the
sacrifice. It is the
conversion of our harvest into seed. As the fanner
casts into the
ground
the finest ears of his
grain,
the
time will come when we too shall hold
nothing
back,
but
shall
eagerly
convert more than we now
possess
into
means and
powers,
when we shall be
willing
to sow the
sun, and the moon for seeds.
LECTURE ON
THE
TIMES.
READ AT THE
MASONIC
TEMPLE,
BOSTON,
DECEMBER
2,
1841.
LECTUEE ON THE TIMES.
THE
Times,
as we
say,
or the
present aspects
of our
social
state,
the
Laws,
Divinity,
Natural
Science,
Agri
culture, Art, Trade, Letters,
have their root in an
invisible
spiritual reality.
To
appear
in these
aspects,
they
must first
exist,
or have some
necessary
foundation.
Beside all the small reasons we
assign,
there is a
great
reason for the existence of
every
extant fact
;
a reason
which lies
grand
and
immovable,
often
unsuspected
be
hind it in silence. The Times are the
masquerade
of
the eternities
;
trivial to the
dull,
tokens of noble and
majestic agents
to the wise
;
the
receptacle
in which the
Past leaves its
history
;
the
quarry
out of which the
genius
of
to-day
is
building up
the Future. The
Times,
the
nations, manners, institutions,
opinions,
votes,
are to be
studied as
omens,
as sacred
leaves,
whereon a
weighty
sense is
inscribed,
if he have the wit and the love to
search it out. Nature itself seems to
propound
to us
this
topic,
and to invite us to
explore
the
meaning
of the
conspicuous
facts of the
day. Everything
that is
popu
lar,
it has been
said,
deserves the attention of the
phi-
losopher
: and this for the obvious
reason,
that
although
it
may
not be of
any
worth in
itself,
yet
it characterizes
the
people.
212 LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
Here is
very good
matter to be
handled,
if we are skil
ful
;
an abundance of
important practical questions
which
it behooves us to understand. Let us examine the
pre
tensions of the
attacking
and
defending parties.
Here
is this
great
fact of
Conservatism,
intrenched in its im
mense
redoubts,
with Himmaleh for its
front,
and Atlas
for its
flank,
and Andes for its
rear,
and
tbe
Atlantic
and Pacific seas for its ditches and
trenches,
which has
planted
its
crosses,
and
crescents,
and stars and
stripes,
and various
signs
and
badges
of
possession,
over
every
rood of the
planet,
and
says
:
"
I will hold fast
;
and to
whom I
will,
will I
give
;
and whom I
will,
will I ex
clude and starve
"
: so
says
Conservatism
;
and all the
children of men attack the colossus in their
youth,
and
all,
or all but a
few,
bow before it when
they
are old.
A
necessity
not
yet
commanded,
a
negative imposed
on
the will of man
by
his
condition,
a
deficiency
in his
force,
is the foundation on which it rests. Let this side be
fairly
stated.
Meantime,
on the other
part,
arises Re
form,
and offers the sentiment of Love as an overmatch
to this material
might.
I wish to consider well this
affirmative
side,
which has a loftier
port
and reason than
heretofore,
which encroaches on the other
every day,
puts
it out of
countenance,
out of
reason,
and out of
temper,
and leaves it
nothing
but silence and
possession.
The fact of
aristocracy,
with its two
weapons
of wealth
and
manners,
is as
commanding
a feature of the nine
teenth
century,
and the American
republic,
as of old
Rome or modern
England.
The reason and influence of
wealth,
the
aspect
of
philosophy
and
religion,
and the
tendencies which have
acquired
the name of Transcen-
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 213
dentalism in Old and New
England
;
the
aspect
of
poetry,
as the
exponent
and
interpretation
of these
things;
the fuller
development
and the freer
play
of
1
Character as a social and
political agent
;
these and
other related
topics
will in turn come to be considered.
But the
subject
of the Times is not an abstract
ques
tion. We talk of the
world,
but we mean a few men
and women. If
you speak
of the
age, you
mean
your
own
platoon
of
people,
as Dante and Milton
painted
in
colossal their
platoons,
and called them Heaven and
Hell. In our idea of
progress,
we do not
go
out of
this
personal picture.
We do not think the
sky
will be
bluer,
or
honey
sweeter,
or our climate more
temperate,
but
only
that our relation to our fellows will be
simpler
and
happier.
What is the reason to be
given
for this
extreme attraction which
persons
have for
us,
but that
they
are the
Age
?
they
are the results of the Past
;
they
are the heralds of the Euture.
They
indicate these
witty, suffering, blushing, intimidating figures
of the
only
race in which there are individuals or
changes
how
far on the Fate has
gone,
and what it drives at. As
trees make
scenery,
and constitute the
hospitality
of
the
landscape,
so
persons
are the world to
persons
a
cunning mystery by
which the Great Desert of
thoughts
and of
planets
takes this
engaging
form,
to
bring,
as it
would
seem,
its
meanings
nearer to the mind.
Thoughts
walk and
speak,
and look with
eyes
at
me,
and
transport
me into new and
magnificent
scenes. These are the
pungent
instructors who thrill the heart of each of
us,
and make all other
teaching
formal and cold. How
I follow them with
aching
heart,
with
pining
desire!
J
14 LECTURE
ON THE TIMES.
I count
myself nothing
before them. I would die for
them with
joy. They
can do what
they
will with me.
How
they
lash us with those
tongues
! How
they
make
the tears
start,
make us blush and turn
pale,
and
lap
us
in
Elysium
to
soothing
dreams,
and castles in the air !
By
tones of
triumph;
of dear
love;
by
threats;
by
pride
that freezes
;
these have the skill to make the world
look bleak and
inhospitable,
or seem the nest of tenderness
and
joy.
I do not wonder at the miracles which
poetry
attributes to the music of
Orpheus,
when I remember what
I have
experienced
from the varied notes of the human
voice.
They
are an incalculable
energy
which counter
vails all other forces in
nature,
because
they
are the chan
nel of
supernatural powers.
There is no interest or in
stitution so
poor
and
withered,
but if a new
strong
man
could be born into
it,
he would
immediately
redeem and
replace
it. A
personal ascendency,
that is the
only
fact
much worth
considering.
I
remember,
some
years ago,
somebody
shocked a circle of friends of order here in Bos
ton,
who
supposed
that our
people
were identified with
their
religious
denominations,
by
declaring
that an elo
quent
man let him be of what sect soever would be
ordained at once in one of our
metropolitan
churches.
To be sure he would
;
and not
only
in
ours,
but in
any
church,
mosque,
or
temple,
on the
plauet
;
but he must
be
eloquent,
able to
supplant
our method and classifica
tion,
by
the
superior beauty
of his own.
Every
fact we
have was
brought
here
by
some
person;
and there is
none that will not
change
and
pass away
before a
person
whose nature is broader than the
person
whom the fact
in
question represents.
And so I find the
Age
walking
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 215
about
in
happy
and
hopeful
natures,
in
strong eyes
and
pleasant thoughts,
and think I read it nearer and truer
so,
than in the
statute-book,
or in the investments of
capital,
which rather celebrate with mournful music the
obsequies
of the last
age.
In the brain of a fanatic
;
in
the wild
hope
of a mountain
boy,
called
by city boys very
ignorant,
because
they
do not know what his
hope
has
certainly apprised
him shall be
;
in the
love-glance
of
a
girl
;
in the
hair-splitting
conscientiousness of some
eccentric
person,
who has found some new
scruple
to em
barrass himself and his
neighbors
withal
;
is to be found
that which shall constitute the times to
come,
more than
in the now
organized
and accredited oracles.
For,
what
ever is affirmative and now
advancing,
contains it. I
think that
only
is real which men love and
rejoice
in
;
not what
they
tolerate,
but what
they
choose
;
what
they
embrace and
avow,
and not the
things
which
chill,
be
numb,
and
terrify
them.
And so
why
not draw for these times a
portrait-gallery
?
Let us
paint
the
painters.
Whilst the
Daguerreotypist,
with camera-obscura and silver
plate, begins
now to trav
erse the
land,
let us set
up
our Camera
also,
and let the
sun
paint
the
people.
Let us
paint
the
agitator,
and the
man of the old
school,
and the member of
Congress,
and
the
college professor,
the formidable
editor,
the
priest,
and
reformer,
the
contemplative girl,
and the fair
aspirant
for fashion and
opportunities,
the woman of the world
who has tried and knows
;
let us examine how well
she knows. Could we indicate the
indicators,
indicate
those who most
accurately represent every good
and evil
tendency
of the
general
mind,
in
the
just
order
which
16
LECTURE ON THE
TIMES.
they
take on this canvas of Time
;
so that all witnesses
should
recognize
a
spiritual
law,
as each well-known
form flitted for a moment across the
wall,
we should
have a series of sketches which would
report
to the
next
ages
the color and
quality
of ours.
Certainly,
I
think,
if this were
done,
there would be
much to admire as well as to condemn
;
souls of as
lofty
a
port,
as
any
in Greek or Roman
fame,
might appear
;
men of
great
heart,
of
strong
hand,
and of
persuasive
speech
;
subtle
thinkers,
and men of wide
sympathy,
and
an
apprehension
which looks over all
history,
and
every
where
recognizes
its own. To be
sure,
there will be
fragments
and hints of
men,
more than
enough
: bloated
promises,
which end in
nothing
or little. And
then,
truly
great
men,
but with some defect in their
composition,
which neutralizes their whole force. Here is a
general
without a
command,
a Damascus
blade,
such as
you may
search
through
nature in vain to
parallel,
laid
up
on the
shelf in some
village
to rust and ruin. And how
many
seem not
quite
available for that idea which
they repre
sent ! Now and then comes a bolder
spirit,
I should
rather
say,
a more surrendered
soul,
more informed and
led
by
God,
which is much in advance of the
rest,
quite
beyond
their
sympathy,
but
predicts
what shall soon be
the
general
fulness
;
as when we stand
by
the
sea-shore,
whilst the tide is
coming
in,
a wave comes
up
the beach
far
higher
than
any foregoing
one,
and recedes
;
and for
a
long
while none comes
up
to that mark
;
but after
some time the whole sea is there and
beyond
it.
But we are not
permitted
to stand as
spectators
of the
pageant
which the
times exhibit: we are
parties
also,
LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
217
and have a
responsibility
which is not to be declined.
A little while this interval of wonder and
comparison
is
permitted
us,
but to the end that we shall
play
a
manly
part.
As the solar
system
moves forward in the
heavens,
certain stars
open
before
us,
and certain stars close
up
behind us
;
so is man s life. The
reputations
that were
great
and inaccessible
change
and tarnish. How
great
were once Lord Bacon s dimensions ! he is now reduced
almost to the middle
height
;
and
many
another star has
turned out to be a
planet
or an asteroid :
only
a few are
the fixed stars which have no
parallax,
or none for us.
The
change
and decline of old
reputations
are the
gra
cious marks of our own
growth. Slowly,
like
light
of
morning,
it steals on
us,
the new
fact,
that
we,
who were
pupils
or
aspirants,
are now
society
: do
compose
a
por
tion of that head and heart we are wont to think
worthy
of all reverence and heed. We are the
representatives
of
religion
and
intellect,
and stand in the
light
of
Ideas,
whose
rays
stream
through
us to those
younger
and more
in the dark. What further relations we
sustain,
what
new
lodges
we are
entering,
is now unknown.
To-day
is a
king
in
disguise. To-day always
looks mean to the
thoughtless,
in the face of an uniform
experience,
that
all
good
and
great
and
happy
actions are made
up pre
cisely
of these blank
todays.
Let us not be so deceived.
Let us unmask the
king
as he
passes.
Let us not in
habit times of wonderful and various
promise
without
divining
their
tendency.
Let us not see the foundations
of
nations,
and of a new and better order of
things
laid,
with
roving eyes,
and an attention
preoccupied
with
trifles.
10
18 LECTUllE ON THE TIMES.
The two
omnipresent parties
of
History,
the
party
of
the Past and the
party
of the
Future,
divide
society
to
day
as of old. Here is the innumerable multitude of
those who
accept
the state and the church from the last
generation,
and stand on no
argument
but
possession.
They
have reason
also, and,
as I
think,
better reason
than is
commonly
stated. No
Burke,
no
Metternich,
has
yet
done full
justice
to the side of conservatism. But
this
class,
however
large, relying
not on the intellect but
on
instinct,
blends itself with the brute forces of
nature,
is
respectable only
as nature
is,
but the individuals have
no attraction for us. It is the
dissenter,
the
theorist,
the
aspirant,
who is
quitting
this ancient domain to em
bark on seas of
adventure,
who
engages
our interest.
Omitting
then for the
present
all notice of the
stationary
class,
we shall find that the movement
party
divides itself
into two
classes,
the actors and the students.
The actors constitute that
great army
of
martyrs
who,
at least in
America,
by
their conscience and
philanthropy,
occupy
the
ground
which Calvinism
occupied
in the last
age,
and
compose
the visible church of the
existing gen
eration. The
present age
will be marked
by
its harvest
of
projects
for the reform of
domestic, civil,
literary,
and
ecclesiastical institutions. The leaders of the crusades
against
War,
Negro slavery, Intemperance,
Government
based on
force,
Usages
of
trade,
Court and Custom-house
Oaths,
and so on to the
agitators
on the
system
of Edu
cation and the laws of
Property,
are the
right
successors
of
Luther, Knox, Robinson, Fox, Penn,
Wesley,
and
Whitefield.
They
have the same virtue and vices
;
the
same noble
impulse,
and the same
bigotry.
These move-
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 219
ments are on all accounts
important
;
they
not
only
check the
special
abuses,
but
they
educate the conscience
and the intellect of the
people.
How can such a
ques
tion as the Slave-trade be
agitated
for
forty years by
all
the Christian
nations,
without
throwing great light
on
ethics into the
general
mind ? The
fury,
with which the
slave-trader defends
every
inch of his
bloody
deck,
and
his
howling auction-platform,
is a
trumpet
to alarm the
ear of
mankind,
to wake the
dull,
and drive all neutrals
to take
sides,
and to listen to the
argument
and the ver
dict. The
Temperance question,
which rides the conver
sation of ten thousand
circles,
and is
tacitly
recalled at
every public
and at
every private
table,
drawing
with it
all the curious ethics of the
Pledge,
of the
Wine-question,
of the
equity
of the manufacture and the
trade,
is a
gym
nastic
training
to the
casuistry
and conscience of the time.
Anti-masonry
had a
deep right
and
wrong,
which
gradu
ally emerged
to
sight
out of the turbid
controversy.
The
political questions touching
the Banks
;
the
Tariff;
the
limits of the executive
power
;
the
right
of the constitu
ent to instruct the
representative ;
the treatment of the
Indians
;
the
Boundary
wars
;
the
Congress
of nations
;
are all
pregnant
with
ethical conclusions
;
and it is well
if
government
and our social order can extricate them
selves from these
alembics,
and find themselves still
gov
ernment and social order. The student of
history
will
hereafter
compute
the
singular
value of our endless dis
cussion of
questions,
to the mind of the
period.
Whilst each of
these
aspirations
and
attempts
of the
people
for the
Better is
magnified by
the natural ex
aggeration
of its
advocates,
until it
excludes the others
220 LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
rom
sight,
and
repels
discreet
persons by
the unfairness
of the
plea,
the movements are in
reality
all
parts
of one
movement. There is a
perfect
chain see
it,
or see it
not of reforms
emerging
from the
surrounding
dark
ness,
each
cherishing
some
part
of the
general
idea,
and
all must be
seen,
in order to do
justice
to
any
one. Seen
in this their natural
connection,
they
are sublime. The
conscience of the
Age
demonstrates itself in this effort
to raise the life of man
by putting
it in
harmony
with
his idea of the Beautiful and the Just. The
history
of
reform is
always
identical
;
it is the
comparison
of the
idea with the fact. Our modes of
living
are not
agree
able to our
imagination.
We
suspect they
are un
worthy.
We
arraign
our
daily employments. They
appear
to us
unfit,
unworthy
of the faculties we
spend
on them. In conversation with a wise
man,
we find
ourselves
apologizing
for our
employments;
we
speak
of them with shame.
Nature, literature, science,
child
hood,
appear
to us
beautiful;
but not our own
daily
work,
not the
ripe
fruit and considered labors of man.
This
beauty
which the
fancy
finds in
everything
else,
certainly
accuses that manner of life we lead.
Why
should it be hateful ?
Why
should it contrast thus witii
all natural
beauty
?
Why
should it not be
poetic,
and
invite and raise us ? Is there a
necessity
that the works
jof man should be sordid?
Perhaps
not. Out of this
c/fair Idea in the mind
springs
the effort at the Perfect.
It is the interior
testimony
to a fairer
possibility
of life
and
manners,
which
agitates society every day
with the
offer of some new amendment. If we would make more
strict
inquiry concerning
its
origin,
we find ourselves
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 221
rapidly approaching
the inner boundaries of
thought,
that term where
speech
becomes
silence,
and science
conscience. For the
origin
of all reform is in that
mys
terious fountain of the moral sentiment in
man,
which
amidst the
natural,
ever contains the
supernatural
for
men. That is new and creative. That is alive. That
alone can make a man other than he is. Here or no
where resides unbounded
energy,
unbounded
power.
The new voices in the wilderness
crying "Repent,"
have revived a
hope,
which had
wellnigh perished
out of
the
world,
that the
thoughts
of the mind
may yet,
in
some distant
age,
in some
happy
hour,
be executed
by
the hands. That is the
hope,
of which all other
hopes
are
parts.
For some
ages
these ideas have been con
signed
to the
poet
and musical
composer,
to the
prayers
and the sermons of churches
;
but the
thought,
that
they
can ever have
any footing
in real
life,
seems
long
since
to have been
exploded by
all
judicious persons.
Milton,
in his best
tract,
describes a relation between
religion
and the
daily occupations,
which is true until this time.
"A
wealthy
man,
addicted to his
pleasure
and to his
profits,
finds
religion
to be a traffic so
entangled,
and of
so
many piddling
accounts,
that of all
mysteries
he can
not skill to
keep
a stock
going upon
that trade. What
should he
doj>
Fain he would have the name to be
religious
;
fain he would bear
up
with his
neighbors
in
that. What does
he, therefore,
but resolve to
give
over
toiling,
and to find himself out some
factor,
to whose
care and credit he
may
commit the whole
managing
of
his
religious
affairs
;
some divine of note and
estimation
that must be. To him he
adheres,
resigns
the whole
222 LECTURE ON THE
TIMES.
warehouse of his
religion,
with all the locks and
keys,
into his
custody
;
and indeed makes the
very
person
of
that man his
religion
;
esteems his
associating
with him
a sufficient evidence and
commendatory
of his own
piety.
So that a man
may say,
his
religion
is now no more
within
himself,
but is become a dividual
movable,
and
goes
and comes near
him,
according
as that
good
man
frequents
the house. He entertains
him,
gives
him
gifts,
feasts
him,
lodges
him
;
his
religion
comes home
at
night, prays,
is
liberally supped,
and
sumptuously
laid to
sleep,
rises,
is
saluted,
and after the
malmsey,
or
some
well-spiced beverage,
and better
breakfasted than
he whose
morning appetite
would have
gladly
fed on
green figs
between
Bethany
and
Jerusalem,
his
religion
walks abroad at
eight,
and leaves his kind entertainer in
the
shop, trading
all
day
without his
religion."
This
picture
would serve for our times.
Religion
was
not invited to eat or drink or
sleep
with
us,
or to make
or divide an
estate,
but was a
holiday guest.
Such
omissions
judge
the
church;
as the
compromise
made
with the
slaveholder,
not much noticed at
first,
every
day appears
more
flagrant
mischief to the American con
stitution. But now the
purists
are
looking
into all these
matters. The more
intelligent
are
growing uneasy
on
the
subject
of
Marriage. They
wish to see the charac
ter
represented
also in that covenant. There shall be
nothing
brutal in
it,
but it shall honor the man and the
woman as much as the most diffusive and universal
action.
Grimly
the same
spirit
looks into the law of
Property,
and accuses men of
driving
a trade in the
great
boundless
providence
which had
given
the
air,
the
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 223
water,
and the land to
men,
to use and not to fence in
and
monopolize.
It casts its
eyes
on
Trade,
and
Day
Labor,
and so it
goes up
and
down,
paving
the earth
with
eyes, destroying privacy,
and
making thorough
lights.
Is all this for
nothing
? Do
you suppose
that
the
reforms,
which are
preparing,
will be as
superficial
as those we know ?
By
the books it reads and
translates,
judge
what books
it will
presently print.
A
great
deal of the
profoundest
thinking
of
antiquity,
which had become as
good
as obso
lete for
us,
is now
reappearing
in extracts and
allusions,
and in
twenty years
will
get
all
printed
anew. See how
daring
is the
reading,
the
speculation,
the
experimenting
of the time. If now some
genius
shall arise who could
unite these scattered
rays
! And
always
such a
genius
does
embody
the ideas of each time. Here is
great
variety
and richness of
mysticism,
each
part
of which now
only disgusts,
whilst it forms the sole
thought
of some
poor
Perfectionist or
"Comer
out,"
yet,
when it shall
be taken
up
as the
garniture
of
some
profound
and all-
reconciling
thinker,
will
appear
the rich and
appropriate
decoration of his
robes.
These reforms are our
contemporaries ;
they
are our
selves
;
our own
light,
and
sight,
and
conscience
;
they
only
name the
relation which
subsists
between us and
the vicious
institutions which
they go
to
rectify. They
are the
simplest
statements of man in these
matters
;
the
plain right
and
wrong.
I cannot
choose but allow and
honor
them. The
impulse
is
good,
and the
theory
;
the
practice
is less beautiful.
The
Reformers affirm the
inward
life,
but
they
do not trust
it,
but use outward
224 LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
and
vulgar
means.
They
do not
rely
on
precisely
that
strength
which wins me to their cause
;
not on
love,
not
on a
principle,
but on
men,
on
multitudes,
on circum
stances,
on
money,
on
party
;
that
is,
on
fear,
on
wrath,
and
pride.
The love which lifted men to the
sight
of
these better
ends,
was the true and best distinction of
/ this
time,
the
disposition
to trust a
principle
more than a
material force. I think that the soul of reform
;
the con
viction,
that not
sensualism,
not
slavery,
not
war,
not
imprisonment,
not even
government,
are
needed, but,
in lieu of them
all,
reliance on the sentiment of
man,
which will work best the more it is trusted
;
not reliance
on
numbers, but, contrariwise,
distrust of
numbers,
and
the
feeling
that then are we
strongest,
when most
private
and alone. The
young
men,
who have been
vexing
society
for these last
years
with
regenerative
methods,
seem to have made this
mistake;
they
all
exaggerated
some
special
means,
and all failed to see that the Reform
*
of Reforms must be
accomplished
without means.
The Reforms have their
high origin
in an ideal
justice,
but
they
do not retain the
purity
of an idea.
They
are
quickly organized
in some
low,
inadequate
form,
and
present
no more
poetic image
to the
mind,
than the evil
tradition which
they reprobated. They
mix the fire of
the moral sentiment with
personal
and
party
heats,
witli
measureless
exaggerations,
and the blindness that
prefers
/
some
darling
measure to
justice
and truth. Those who
are
urging
with most ardor what are called the
greatest
benefits of
mankind,
are
narrow,
self-pleasing,
conceited
men,
and affect us as the insane do.
They
bite
us,
and
we run mad also. I think the work of the reformer as
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 225
innocent as other work that is done around him
;
but
when I have seen it
near,
I do not like it better. It is
done in the same
way,
it is done
profanely,
not
piously
;
by management, by
tactics,
and clamor. It is a buzz in
the ear. I cannot feel
any pleasure
in sacrifices which
display
to me such
partiality
of character. We do not
want
actions,
but men
;
not a chemical
drop
of
water,
but
rain;
the
spirit
that sheds and showers
actions,
countless,
endless actions. You have on some occasion
played
a bold
part.
You have set
your
heart and face
against society,
when
you thought
it
wrong,
and returned
it frown for frown. Excellent : now can
you
afford to
forget
it,
reckoning
all
your
action no more than the
passing
of
your
hand
through
the
air,
or a little breath
of
your
mouth ? The world leaves no track in
space,
and
the
greatest
action of man no mark in the vast idea. To
the
youth
diffident of his
ability,
and full of
compunction
at his
unprofitable
existence,
the
temptation
is
always ^
great
to lend himself to
public
movements,
and as one of
a
party accomplish
what he cannot
hope
to effect alone.
But he must resist the
degradation
of a man to a meas
ure. I must act with
truth,
though
I should never come
to
act,
as
you
call
it,
with effect. I must consent to in
action. A
patience
which is
grand
;
a brave and cold
neglect
of the offices which
prudence
exacts,
so it be
done in a
deep piety
;
a consent to solitude and
inaction,
which
proceeds
out of an
unwillingness
to violate char
acter,
is the
century
which makes the
gem.
Whilst
therefore I desire to
express
the
respect
and
joy
I feel
before this sublime connection of
reforms,
now in their
infancy
around
us,
I
urge
the more
earnestly
the
para-
10*
o
226 LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
/ mount duties of self-reliance. I cannot find
language
of
J
sufficient
energy
to
convey my
sense of the sacredness
of
private integrity.
All
men,
all
things,
the
state,
the
church,
yea,
the friends of the
heart,
are
phantasms
and
unreal beside the
sanctuary
of the heart. With so much
awe,
with so much
fear,
let it be
respected.
The
great majority
of
men,
unable to
judge
of
any
principle
until its
light
falls on a
fact,
are not aware of
the evil that is around
them,
until
they
see it in some
gross
form,
as in a class of
intemperate
men,
or slave
holders,
or
soldiers,
or fraudulent
persons.
Then
they
are
greatly
moved;
and
magnifying
the
importance
of
that
wrong, they fancy
that if that abuse were
redressed,
all would
go
well,
and
they
fill the land with clamor to
correct
it. Hence the
missionary
and other
religious
efforts. If
every
island and
every
house had a
Bible,
if
every
child was
brought
into the
Sunday
school,
would
the wounds of the world
heal,
and man be
upright
?
/ But the man of
ideas,
accounting
the circumstance
nothing, judges
of the commonwealth from the state of
his own mind.
If,
he
says,
I am
selfish,
then is
there
slavery,
or the effort to establish
it,
wherever I
go.
But if I am
just,
then is there no
slavery,
let the laws
say
what
they
will. For if I treat all men as
gods,
how
to me can there be
any
such
thing
as a slave? But
how frivolous is
your
war
against
circumstances. This
denouncing philanthropist
is himself a slaveholder in
every
word and look. Does he free me ? Does he
cheer me? He is the State of
Georgia,
or
Alabama,
with their
sanguinary
slave-laws
walking
here on our
Northeastern
shores. We are all thankful he has no
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 227
more
political power,
as we are fond of
liberty
ourselves.
I am afraid our virtue is a little
geographical.
I am
not mortified
by
our vice
;
that is
obduracy
;
it colors and
palters,
it curses and
swears,
and I can see to the end of
it
; but,
I
own,
our virtue makes me ashamed
;
so sour
and
narrow,
so thin and
blind,
virtue so vice-like. Then
again,
how trivial seem the contests of the
abolitionists,
whilst he aims
merely
at the circumstance of the slave.
Give the slave the least elevation of
religious
sentiment,
and he is no slave :
you
are the slave : he not
only
in his
humility
feels his
superiority,
feels that
much-deplored
condition of his to be a
fading
trifle,
but he makes
you
feel it too. He is the master. The
exaggeration,
which
our
young people
make of his
wrongs,
characterizes
themselves. What are no trifles to
them,
they naturally
think are no trifles to
Pompey.
We
say,
then,
that the
reforming
movement is sacred
in its
origin;
in its
management
and details timid and
profane.
These benefactors
hope
to raise man
by improv
ing
his
circumstances :
by
combination of that which is
dead,
they hope
to make
something
alive. In vain.
By
new infusions alone of the
spirit by
which he is made
and directed can he be
re-made and reinforced. The sad
Pestalozzi,
who shared with all ardent
spirits
the
hope
of
Europe
on the outbreak of the French
Revolution,
after
witnessing
its
sequel,
recorded his
conviction,
that
"
the
amelioration of outward circumstances will be the
effect,
but can never be the means of mental and moral
improve
ment."
Quitting
now the class of
actors,
let us turn to
see how it stands with the other class of which we
spoke,
namely,
the
students.
228
LECTURE
ON THE TIMES.
A
new disease has fallen on the life of man.
Every
Age,
like
every
human
body,
has its own
distemper.
Other
times have had
war,
or
famine,
or a barbarism
domestic or
bordering,
as their
antagonism.
Our fore
fathers walked in the world and went to their
graves,
tormented
with the fear of
Sin,
and the terror of the
Day
of
Judgment.
These terrors have lost their
force,
and our torment is
Unbelief,
the
Uncertainty
as to what
we
ought
to do
;
the distrust of the value of what we
do,
and the distrust that the
Necessity
(which
we all
at last believe
in)
is fair and beneficent. Our
Religion
assumes
the
negative
form of
rejection.
Out of love of
the
true,
we
repudiate
the false : and the
Religion
is an
abolishing
criticism.
A
great perplexity hangs
like a
cloud on the brow of all cultivated
persons,
a certain
imbecility
in the best
spirits,
which
distinguishes
the
period.
We do not find the same trait in the
Arabian,
in the
Hebrew,
in
Greek, Roman, Norman,
English
periods
; no,
but
in other men a natural firmness. The
men did not see
beyond
the need of the hour.
They
planted
their foot
strong,
and doubted
nothing.
We mis
trust
every step
we take. We find it the worst
thing
about
time,
that we know not what to do with it. We
are so
sharp-sighted
that we can neither work nor
think,
neither read Plato nor not read him.
Then there is what is called a too intellectual ten
dency.
Can there be too much intellect? We have
never met with
any
such excess. But the
criticism,
which is levelled at the laws and
manners,
ends in
thought,
without
causing
a new method of life. The
genius
of the
day
does not decline to a
deed,
but to
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 229
a
beholding.
It is not that men do not wish to act
;
they pine
to be
employed,
but are
paralyzed by
the un
certainty
what
they
should do. The
inadequacy
of the
work to the faculties is the
painful perception
which
keeps
them still. This
happens
to the best.
Then,
talents
bring
their usual
temptations,
and the current
literature and
poetry
with
perverse ingenuity
draw us
away
from life to solitude and meditation. This could
well be
borne,
if it were
great
and
involuntary;
if
the men were ravished
by
their
thought,
and hurried
into ascetic
extravagances. Society
could then
manage
to release their shoulder from its
wheel,
and
grant
them
for a time this
privilege
of sabbath. But
they
are not
so.
Thinking,
which was a
rage,
is become an art. The
thinker
gives
me
results,
and never invites me to be
present
with him at his invocation of
truth,
and to
enjoy
with him its
proceeding
into his mind.
So little action amidst such audacious and
yet
sincere
profession,
that we
begin
to doubt if that
great
revolu
tion in the art of
war,
which has made it a
game
of
posts
instead of a
game
of
battles,
has not
operated
on
Reform
;
whether this be not also a war of
posts,
a
paper
blockade,
in which each
party
is to
display
the utmost
resources of his
spirit
and
belief,
and no conflict occur
;
but the world shall take that course which the
demonstra
tion of the truth shall indicate.
But we must
pay
for
being
too
intellectual,
as
they
call it.
People
are not as
light-hearted
for it. I think
men never loved life less. I
question
if care and doubt
ever wrote their names so
legibly
on the faces of
any
population.
This
Ennui,
for
which
we Saxons had no
230 LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
name,
this word of France has
got
a terrific
significance.
It shortens
life,
and bereaves the
day
of its
light.
Old
age begins
in the
nursery,
and before the
young
American
is
put
into
jacket
and
trousers,
he
says,
I want some-
/thing
which I never saw before
;
and I wish I was
"
not I. I have seen the same
gloom
on the brow even
of those adventurers from the intellectual
class,
who have
dived
deepest
and with most success into active life. I
have seen the authentic
sign
of
anxiety
and
perplexity
on
the
greatest
forehead of the state. The canker-worms
have crawled to the
topmost bough
of the wild
elm,
and
swing
down from that. Is there less
oxygen
in the at
mosphere
? What has checked in this
age
the animal
spirits
which
gave
to our forefathers their
bounding
pulse
?
But have a little
patience
with this
melancholy
humor.
Their unbelief arises out of a
greater
Belief;
their in
action out of a scorn of
inadequate
action.
By
the side
of these
men,
the hot
agitators
have a certain
cheap
and
ridiculous air
;
they
even look smaller than the others.
/6f the
two,
I
own,
I like the
speculators
best.
They
*
have some
piety
which looks with faith to a fair
Future,
unprofaned by
rash and
unequal attempts
to realize it.
And
truly
we shall find much to console
us,
when we
consider the cause of their uneasiness. It is the love of
greatness,
it is the need of
harmony,
the contrast of the
dwarfish Actual with the exorbitant Idea. No man can
compare
the ideas and
aspirations
of the innovators of the
present day,
with those of former
periods,
without feel
ing
how
great
and
high
this criticism is. The revolu
tions that
impend
over
society
are not now from ambi-
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 231
tion and
rapacity,
from
impatience
of one or another
form of
government,
but from new modes of
thinking,
which shall
recompose society
after a new
order,
which
shall animate labor
by
love and
science,
which shall de
stroy
the value of
many
kinds of
property,
and
replace
all
property
within the dominion of reason and
equity.
There was never so
great
a
thought laboring
in the
breasts of
men,
as now. It almost seems as if what was
aforetime
spoken fabulously
and
hieroglyphically,
was
now
spoken plainly,
the
doctrine,
namely,
of the indwell
ing
of the Creator in man. The
spiritualist
wishes this
only,
that the
spiritual principle
should be suffered to
demonstrate itself to the
end,
in all
possible applications
to the state of
man,
without the admission of
anything
unspiritual,
that
is,
anything positive, dogmatic,
or
per
sonal. The excellence of this class consists in
this,
that
they
have believed
; that,
affirming
the need of new and
4it
s
higher
modes of
living
and
action,
they
have abstained
from the recommendation of low methods. Their fault
is that
they
have
stopped
at the intellectual
perception
;
that their will is not
yet inspired
from the Fountain of
Love. But whose fault is this ? and what a
fault,
and
to what
inquiry
does it lead ! We have come to that
which is the
spring
of all
power,
of
beauty
and
virtue,
of
art and
poetry
;
and who shall tell us
according
to what
law its
inspirations
and its informations are
given
or
withholden ?
I do not wish to be
guilty
of the
narrowness and
ped
antry
of
inferring
the
tendency
and
genius
of the
Age
from a few and insufficient facts or
persons.
Every age
has a thousand sides and
signs
and
tendencies
;
and it is
232 LECTURE ON THE
TIMES.
only
when
surveyed
from inferior
points
of
view,
that
great
varieties of character
appear.
Our time too is full
of
activity
and
performance.
Is there not
something
comprehensive
in the
grasp
of a
society
which to
great
mechanical
invention,
and the best institutions of
prop
erty,
adds the most
daring
theories
;
which
explores
the
subtlest and most universal
problems
? At the manifest
risk of
repeating
what
every
other
Age
has
thought
of
itself,
we
might say,
we think the Genius of this
Age
more
philosophical
than
any
other has
been,
righter
in
its
aims, truer,
with less
fear,
less
fable,
less mixture of
any
sort.
But turn it how we
will,
as we
ponder
this
meaning
of the
times,
every
new
thought
drives us to the
deep
fact,
that the Time is the child of the
Eternity.
The
main interest which
any aspects
of the Times can have
for
us,
is the
great spirit
which
gazes through
them,
the
light
which
they
can shed on the wonderful
questions,
What we are ? and Whither we tend ? We do not wish
to be deceived. Here we
drift,
like white sail across the
wild
ocean,
now
bright
on the
wave,
now
darkling
in
the
trough
of the sea
;
but from what
port
did we sail ?
Who knows ? Or to what
port
are we bound ? Who
knows ? There is no one to tell us but such
poor
weather-tossed mariners as
ourselves,
whom we
speak
as
we
pass,
or who have hoisted some
signal,
or floated to
us some letter in a bottle from far. But what know
they
more than we?
They
also found themselves on this
wondrous sea. No
;
from the older
sailors,
nothing.
Over all their
speaking-trumpets,
the
gray
sea and the
loud winds
answer,
Not in us
;
not in Time. Where
LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
then but in
Ourselves,
where but in that
Thought through
which we communicate with absolute
nature,
and are
made aware that whilst we shed the dust of which we are
built,
grain by grain,
till it is all
gone,
the law which
clothes us with
humanity
remains new ?
where,
but in ihe
intuitions which are vouchsafed us from
within,
shall we
learn the Truth ?
Faithless, faithless,
we
fancy
that with
the dust we
depart
and are not
;
and do not know that
the law and the
perception
of the law are at last one
;
that
only
as much as the law enters
us,
becomes
us,
we
are
living
men,
immortal with the
immortality
of this
law. Underneath all these
appearances
lies that which
is,
that which
lives,
that which causes. This ever-renew
ing generation
of
appearances
rests on a
reality,
and a
reality
that is alive.
To a true scholar the attraction of the
aspects
of na
ture,
the
departments
of
life,
and the
passages
of his ex
perience,
is
simply
the information
they yield
him of
this
supreme
nature which lurks within all. That
reality,
that
causing
force,
is moral. The Moral Sentiment is
but its other name. It makes
by
its
presence
or absence
right
and
wrong, beauty
and
ugliness, genius
or
depriva
tion. As the
granite
comes to the
surface,
and towers
into the
highest
mountains, and,
if we
dig
down,
we find
it below the
superficial
strata,
so in all the details of our
domestic or civil life is hidden the elemental
reality,
which
ever and anon comes to the
surface,
and forms the
grand
men,
who are the leaders and
examples,
rather than the
companions
of the race. The
granite
is
curiously
con
cealed under a thousand formations and
surfaces,
under
fertile
soils,
and
grasses,
and
flowers,
under well-ma-
234 LECTURE ON THE TIMES.
nured,
arable
fields,
and
large
towns and
cities,
but it
makes the foundation of
these,
and is
always indicating
its
presence by slight
but sure
signs.
So is it with the
Life of our life
;
so close does that also hide. I read it
in
glad
and in
weeping eyes
;
I read it in the
pride
and
in the
humility
of
people
;
it is
recognized
in
every
bar
gain
and in
every complaisance,
in
every
criticism,
and
in all
praise;
it is voted for at elections
;
it wins the cause
with
juries
;
it rides the
stormy eloquence
of the
senate,
sole victor
;
histories are written of
it,
holidays
decreed
to
it; statues, tombs, churches,
built to its
honor;
yet
men seem to fear and to shun
it,
when it comes
barely
to
view in our immediate
neighborhood.
For that
reality
let us stand : that let us
serve,
and for
that
speak. Only
as far as that shines
through
them,
are these times or
any
times worth consideration. I
wish to
speak
of the
politics,
education, business,
and
religion
around
us,
without
ceremony
or false deference.
You will absolve me from the
charge
of
flippancy,
or ma
lignity,
or the desire to
say
smart
things
at the
expense
of
whomsoever,
when
you
see that
reality
is all we
prize,
and that we are bound on our entrance into nature to
speak
for that. Let it not be recorded in our own mem
ories,
that in this moment of the
Eternity,
when we who
were named
by
our names flitted across the
light,
we
were afraid of
any
fact,
or
disgraced
the fair
Day by
a
pusillanimous preference
of our bread to our freedom.
What is the
scholar,
what is the man
for
but for
hospi
tality
to
every
new
thought
of his time ? Have
you
leisure,
power, property,
friends ?
you
shall be the
asylum
and
patron
of
every
new
thought, every unproven
LECTURE ON THE TIMES. 235
opinion, every
untried
project,
which
proceeds
out of
good-will
and honest
seeking.
All the
newspapers,
all
the
tongues
of
to-day
will of course at first defame what
is
noble;
but
you
who hold not of
to-day,
not of the
times,
but of the
Everlasting,
are to stand for it
;
and
the
highest compliment
man ever receives from
Heaven,
is the
sending
to him its
disguised
and discredited an,
gels.
THE CONSERVATIVE.
A LECTURE DELIVERED AT THE MASONIC
TEMPLE, BOSTON,
DECEMBER
9,
1841.
THE CONSERVATIVE.
THE two
parties
which divide the
state,
the
party
of
Conservatism and that of
Innovation,
are
very
old,
and
have
disputed
the
possession
of the world ever since it
was made. This
quarrel
is the
subject
of civil
history.
The conservative
party
established the reverend hierar
chies and monarchies of the most ancient world. The bat
tle of
patrician
and
plebeian,
of
parent
state and
colony,
of old
usage
and accommodation to new
facts,
of the rich
and the
poor, reappears
in all countries and times. The
war
rages
not
only
in
battle-fields,
in national
councils,
and ecclesiastical
synods,
but
agitates every
man s bosom
with
opposing advantages every
hour. On rolls the old
world
meantime,
and now
one,
now the other
gets
the
day,
and still the
fight
renews itself as if for the first
time,
under new names and hot
personalities.
Such an irreconcilable
antagonism,
of
course,
must
have a
correspondent depth
of seat in the human consti
tution. It is the
opposition
of Past and
Future,
of
Memory
and
Hope,
of the
Understanding
and the "Rea
son. It is the
primal antagonism,
the
appearance
in tri
fles of the two
poles
of
nature.
There is a
fragment
of old fable which seems somehow
to have been.
dropped
from the current
mythologies,
240 THE
CONSERVATIVE.
which
may
deserve
attention,
as it
appears
to relate to
this
subject.
Saturn
grew weary
of
sitting
alone,
or with none but
the
great
Uranus or Heaven
beholding
him,
and he cre
ated an
oyster.
Then he would act
again,
but he made
nothing
more,
but went on
creating
the race of
oysters.
Then Uranus
cried,
A new
work,
O Saturn ! the old is
not
good again.
Saturn
replied
: I fear. There is not
only
the alter
native of
making
and not
making,
but also of
unmaking.
Seest thou the
great
sea,
how it ebbs and flows ? so is it
with me
;
my power
ebbs
;
and if I
put
forth
my
hands,
I shall not
do,
but undo. Therefore I do what I have
done
;
I hold what I have
got
;
and so I resist
Night
and Chaos.
Saturn,
replied
Uranus,
thou canst not hold thine
own,
but
by making
more.
Thy oysters
are barnacles
and
cockles,
and with the next
flowing
of the tide
they
will be
pebbles
and sea-foam.
f
l
see,
rejoins
Saturn,
thou art in
league
with
Night,
thou art become an evil
eye
;
thou
spakest
from
love
;
now
thy
words smite me with hatred. I
appeal
to
Fate,
must there not be rest ? I
appeal
to Fate
also,
said
Uranus,
must there not be motion ?
But Saturn was
silent,
and went on
making oysters
for a
thousand
years.
After
that,
the word of Uranus came into his mind
like a
ray
of the
sun,
and he made
Jupiter
;
and then he
feared
again
;
and nature
froze,
the
things
that were
made went
backward, and,
to save the
world,
Jupiter
slew his father Saturn.
THE CONSERVATIVE.
241
This
may
stand for the earliest account of a conversa
tion on
politics
between a Conservative and a
Radical,
which has come down to us. It is ever thus. It is the
counteraction of the
centripetal
and the
centrifugal
for
ces. Innovation is the salient
energy
: Conservatism the
pause
on the last movement. That which is was made
by
God,
saith Conservatism. He is
leaving
that,
he
is
entering
this
other,
rejoins
Innovation.
There is
always
a certain meanness in the
argument
of
conservatism,
joined
with a certain
superiority
in its fact.
It affirms because it holds. Its
fingers
clutch the
fact,
and it will not
open
its
eyes
to see a better fact. The
castle,
which conservatism is set to
defend,
is the actual
state of
tilings, good
and bad. The
project
of innovation
is the best
possible
state of
things.
Of
course,
conserva
tism
always
has the worst of the
argument,
is
always
apologizing, pleading
a
necessity, pleading
that to
change
would be to deteriorate
;
it must saddle itself with the
mountainous load of the violence and vice of
society,
must
deny
the
possibility
of
good, deny
ideas,
and sus
pect
and stone the
prophet
;
whilst innovation is
always
in the
right,
triumphant, attacking,
and sure of final suc
cess. Conservatism stands on man s confessed limita
tions
; reform,
on his
indisputable
infinitude
;
conserva
tism,
on
circumstance; liberalism,
on
power;
one
goes
to
make an adroit member of the social frame
;
the other to
postpone
all
things
to the man
himself;
conservatism is
debonair and social
;
reform is individual and
imperious.
We are reformers in
spring
and summer
;
in autumn and
winter we stand
by
the old
;
reformers in the
morning,
conservers at
night.
Reform is
affirmative,
conservatism
11
p
242 THE CONSERVATIVE.
negative
;
conservatism
goes
for
comfort,
reform for
truth. Conservatism is more candid to behold another s
worth
;
reform more
disposed
to maintain and increase
its own. Conservatism makes no
poetry,
breathes no
prayer,
has no invention
;
it is all
memory.
Reform
has no
gratitude,
no
prudence,
no
husbandry.
It makes
a
great
difference to
your figure
and to
your thought,
whether
your
foot is
advancing
or
receding.
Conserva
tism never
puts
the foot forward
;
in the hour when it
does
that,
it is not
establishment,
but reform. Conserva
tism tends to universal
seeming
and
treachery,
believes
in a
negative
fate;
believes that men s
temper governs
them
;
that for
me,
it avails not to trust in
principles
;
they
will fail me
;
I must bend a little
;
it distrusts na
ture
;
it thinks there is a
general
law without a
particu
lar
application,
law for all that does not include
any
one. Reform in its
antagonism
inclines to asinine resist
ance,
to kick with hoofs
;
it runs to
egotism
and bloated
self-conceit
;
it runs to a bodiless
pretension,
to unnat
ural
refining
and
elevation,
which ends in
hypocrisy
and
sensual reaction.
And so whilst we do not
go beyond general
statements,
it
may
be
safely
affirmed of these
two
metaphysical antag
onists,
that each is a
good
half,
but an
impossible
whole.
Each
exposes
the abuses of the
other,
but in a true so
ciety,
in a true
man,
both must combine.
Nature does
not
give
the crown of its
approbation,
namely,
beauty,
to
any
action or emblem or
actor,
but to one
which com
bines both these elements
;
not to the rock which resists
the waves from
age
to
age,
nor to the wave which lashes
incessantly
the
rock,
but the
superior beauty
is with the
THE CONSERVATIVE. 243
oak which stands with its hundred arms
against
the
storms of a
century,
and
grows every year
like a
sapling
;
or the river which ever
flowing, yet
is found in the same
bed from
age
to
age
; or,
greatest
of
all,
the man who has
subsisted for
years
amid the
changes
of
nature,
yet
has
distanced
himself,
so that when
you
remember what he
was,
and see what he
is,
you say,
what strides ! what a
disparity
is here !
Throughout
nature the
past
combines in
every
creature
with the
present.
Each of the convolutions of the sea-
shell,
each node and
spine
marks one
year
of the fish s
life
;
what was the mouth of the shell for one
season,
with
the addition of new matter
by
the
growth
of the
animal,
becoming
an ornamental node. The leaves and a shell of
soft wood are all that the
vegetation
of this summer has
made,
but the solid columnar stem which lifts that bank
of
foliage
into the air to draw the
eye
and to cool us with
its
shade,
is the
gift
and
legacy
of dead and buried
years.
In
nature,
each of these elements
being always pres
ent,
each
theory
has a natural
support.
As we take our
stand on
Necessity,
or on
Ethics,
shall we
go
for the con
servative,
or for the reformer. If we read the world his
torically,
we shall
say,
Of all the
ages,
the
present
hour
and circumstance is the cumulative
result;
this is the
best throw of the dice of nature that has
yet
been,
or that
is
yet possible.
If we see it from the side of
Will,
or the
Moral
Sentiment,
we shall accuse the Past and the Pres
ent,
and
require
the
impossible
of the Future.
But
although
this bifold fact lies thus united in real
nature,
and so united that no man can continue to exist
in
whom both these elements do not
work,
yet
men are
244 THE
CONSERVATIVE.
not
philosophers,
but are rather
very
foolish
children,
who,
by
reason of their
partiality,
see
everything
in the
most absurd
manner,
and are the victims at all times of
the nearest
object.
There is even no
philosopher
who is
a
philosopher
at all times. Our
experience,
our
percep
tion,
is conditioned
by
the need to
acquire
in
parts
and in
succession,
that
is,
with
every
truth a certain falsehood.
As this is the invariable method of our
training,
we must
give
it
allowance,
and suffer men to learn as
they
have
done for six
millenniums,
a word at a
time,
to
pair
off into
insane
parties,
and learn the amount of truth each
knows,
by
the denial of an
equal
amount of truth. For the
pres
ent, then,
to come at what sum is attainable to
us,
we
must even hear the
parties plead
as
parties.
That which is best about
conservatism,
that
which,
though
it cannot be
expressed
in
detail,
inspires
rever
ence in
all,
is the Inevitable. There is the
question
not
only,
what the conservative
says
for himself ?
but,
why
must he
say
it ? What insurmountable fact binds him to
that side ? Here is the fact which men call
Fate,
and
fate in dread
degrees,
fate behind
fate,
not to be
disposed
of
by
the consideration that the Conscience commands
this or
that,
but
necessitating
the
question,
whether the
faculties of man will
play
him true in
resisting
the fact?
of universal
experience
? For
although
the commands
of the Conscience are
essentially
absolute,
they
are histor
ically limitary.
Wisdom does not seek a literal recti
tude,
but an
useful,
that
is,
a conditioned
one,
such a one
as the faculties of man and the constitution of
things
will
warrant. The
reformer,
the
partisan,
loses himself in
driving
to the utmost some
specialty 9f
right
conduct,
THE CONSERVATIVE.
245
until his own nature and all nature resist him
;
but Wis
dom
attempts
nothing
enormous and
disproportioned
to
its
powers,
nothing
which it cannot
perform
or
nearly
perform.
We have all a certain intellection or
presenti
ment of reform
existing
in the
mind,
which does not
yet
descend into the
character,
and those who throw them
selves
blindly
on this lose themselves. Whatever
they
attempt
in that
direction,
fails and reacts
suicidally
on the
actor himself. This is the
penalty
of
having
transcended
nature. Tor the
existing
world is not a
dream,
and can
not with
impunity
be treated as a dream
;
neither is it a
disease
;
but it is the
ground
on which
you
stand,
it is
the mother of whom
you
were born. Reform converses
with
possibilities,
perchance
with
impossibilities
;
but here
is sacred fact. This also was
true,
or it could not be : it
had life in
it,
or it could not have existed : it has life in
it,
or it could not continue. Your schemes
may
be feasi
ble,
or
may
not
be,
but this has the indorsement of nature
and a
long friendship
and cohabitation with the
powers
of
nature. This will stand until a better cast of the dice is
made. The contest between the Future and the Past is
one between
Divinity entering,
and
Divinity departing.
You are welcome to
try your experiments,
and,
if
you
can,
to
displace
the actual order
by
that ideal
republic
you
announce,
for
nothing
but God will
expel
God. But
plainly
the burden of
proof
must lie with the
projector.
We hold to this until
you
can demonstrate
something
better.
The
system
of
property
and law
goes
back for its
origin
to barbarous and sacred times
;
it is the fruit of the
same
mysterious
cause as the mineral or animal world.
246
THE CONSERVATIVE.
There is a natural sentiment and
prepossession
in favor
of
age,
of
ancestors,
of barbarous and
aboriginal usages,
which is a
homage
to the element of
necessity
and divin
ity
which is in them. The
respect
for the old names
of
places,
of mountains and
streams,
is universal. The
Indian and barbarous name can never be
supplanted
without loss. The ancients tell us that the
gods
loved
the
Ethiopians
for their stable customs
;
and the
Egyp
tians and
Chaldeans,
whose
origin
could not be
explored,
passed among
the
junior
tribes of Greece and
Italy
for
sacred nations.
Moreover,
so
deep
is the foundation of the
existing
social
system,
that it leaves no one out of it. We
may
be
partial,
but Fate is not. All men have their root in
it. You who
quarrel
with the
arrangements
of
society,
and are
willing
to embroil
all,
and risk the
indisputable
good
that
exists,
for the chance of
better, live, move,
and have
your being
in
this,
and
your
deeds contradict
your
words
every day.
For as
you
cannot
jump
from
the
ground
without
using
the resistance of the
ground,
nor
put
out the boat to
sea,
without
shoving
from the
shore,
nor attain
liberty
without
rejecting obligation,
so
you
are under the
necessity
of
using
the Actual order of
things,
in order to disuse it
;
to live
by
it,
whilst
you
wish to take
away
its life. The
past
has baked
your
loaf,
and in the
strength
of its bread
you
would break
up
the oven. But
you
are
betrayed by your
own nature.
You also are conservatives. However men
please
to
style
themselves,
I see no other than a conservative
party.
You are not
only
identical with us in
your
needs,
but also in
your
methods and aims. You
quarrel
with
my
THE CONSERVATIVE. 247
conservatism,
but it is to build
up
one of
your
own
;
it
will have a new
beginning,
but the same course and
end,
the same
trials,
the same
passions
;
among
the lovers of
the new I observe that there is a
jealousy
of the
newest,
and that the seceder from the seceder is as damnable as
the
pope
himself.
On these and the like
grounds
of
general
statement,
conservatism
plants
itself without
danger
of
being
dis
placed. Especially
before this
personal appeal,
the inno
vator must confess his
weakness,
must confess that no
man is to be found
good enough
to be entitled to stand
champion
for the
principle.
But when this
great
ten
dency
comes to
practical
encounters,
and is
challenged
by young
men,
to whom it is no
abstraction,
but a fact
of
hunger,
distress,
and exclusion from
opportunities,
it must needs seem
injurious.
The
youth,
of
course,
is
an innovator
by
the fact of his birth. There he
stands,
newly
born on the
planet,
a universal
beggar,
with all
the reason of
things,
one would
say,
on his side. In
his first consideration how to
feed, clothe,
and warm
himself,
he is met
by warnings
on
every
hand,
that this
thing
and that
thing
have
owners,
and he must
go
else
where. Then he
says
: If I am born into the
earth,
where is
my part
? have the
goodness, gentlemen
of this
world,
to show me
my
wood-lot,
where I
may
fell
my
wood,
my
field where to
plant my
corn,
my pleasant
ground
where to build
my
cabin.
Touch
any
wood,
or
field,
or
house-lot,
on
your peril,
cry
all the
gentlemen
of this world
;
but
you may
come
and work in
ours,
for
us,
and we will
give you
a
piece
of bread.
248 THE
CONSERVATIVE.
And what is that
peril?
Knives and
muskets,
if we meet
you
in the act
;
im
prisonment,
if we find
you
afterward.
And
by
what
authority,
kind
gentlemen
?
By
our law.
And
your
law,
is it
just
?
As
just
for
you
as it was for us. We
wrought
for
others under this
law,
and
got
our lands so.
I
repeat
the
question,
Is
your
law
just
?
Not
quite just,
but
necessary.
Moreover,
it is
juster
now than it was when we were born
;
we have made it
milder and more
equal.
I will none of
your
law,
returns the
youth
;
it en
cumbers me. I cannot
understand,
or so much as
spare
time to read that needless
library
of
your
laws. Nature
has
sufficiently provided
me with rewards and
sharp pen
alties,
to bind me not to
transgress.
Like the Persian
noble of
old,
I ask "that I
may
neither command nor
obey."
I do not wish to enter into
your complex
social
system.
I shall serve those whom I
can,
and
they
who
can will serve me. I shall seek those whom I
love,
and
shun those whom I love
not,
and what more can all
your
laws render me ?
With
equal
earnestness and
good
faith,
replies
to this
plaintiff
an
upholder
of the
establishment,
a man of
many
virtues :
Your
opposition
is feather-brained and over-fine.
Young
man,
I have no skill to talk with
you,
but look at
me : I have risen
early
and sat
late,
and toiled
honestly
and
painfully
for
very many years.
I never dreamed
about methods
;
I laid
rny
bones
to,
and
drudged
for the
THE CONSERVATIVE. 249
good
I
possess
;
it was not
got by
fraud,
nor
by
luck,
but
by
work,
and
you
must show me a warrant like these
stubborn facts in
your
own
fidelity
and
labor,
before I
suffer
you,
on the faith of a few fine
words,
to ride into
my
estate,
and claim to scatter it as
your
own.
*
Now
you
touch the heart of the
matter,
replies
the
reformer. To that
fidelity
and
labor,
I
pay homage.
I
am
unworthy
to
arraign your
manner of
living,
until I too
have been tried. But I should be more
unworthy,
if I
did not tell
you why
I cannot walk in
your steps.
I find
this vast
network,
which
you
call
property,
extended
over the whole
planet.
I cannot
occupy
the bleakest
crag
of the White Hills or the
Alleghany Range,
but
some man or
corporation steps up
to me to show me that
it is his.
Now,
though
I am
very peaceable,
and on
my
private
account could well
enough
die,
since it
appears
there was some mistake in
my
creation,
and that I have
been missent to this
earth,
where all the seats were al
ready
taken,
yet
I feel called
upon
in behalf of rational
nature,
which I
represent,
to declare to
you my opinion,
that,
if the Earth is
yours,
so also is it mine. All
your
aggregate
existences are less to me a fact than is
my
own
;
as I am born to the
earth,
so the Earth is
given
to
me,
what I want of it to till and to
plant
;
nor could
I,
without
pusillanimity,
omit to claim so much. I must
not
only
have a name to
live,
I must live.
My genius
leads me to build a different manner of life from
any
of
yours.
I cannot then
spare you
the whole world. I
love
you
better. I must tell
you
the truth
practically
;
and take that which
you
call
yours.
It is God s world
and mine
;
yours
as munh as
you want,
mine as much as
11*
250 THE
CONSERVATIVE.
I want.
Besides,
I know
your ways
;
I know the
symp
toms of the disease. To the end of
your power, you
will
serve this lie which cheats
you.
Your want is a
gulf
which the
possession
of the broad earth would not fill.
Yonder sun in heaven
you
would
pluck
down from shin
ing
on the
universe,
and make him a
property
and
pri
vacy,
if
you
could
;
and the moon and the north star
you
would
quickly
have occasion for in
your
closet and bed
chamber. What
you
do not want for
use,
you
crave for
ornament,
and what
your
convenience could
spare, your
pride
cannot.
On the other
hand,
precisely
the defence which was
set
up
for the British
Constitution,
namely,
that with all
its admitted
defects,
rotten
boroughs
and
monopolies,
it
worked
well,
and substantial
justice
was somehow done
;
the wisdom and the worth did
get
into
parliament,
and
every
interest did
by right,
or
might,
or
sleight, get rep
resented;
the same defence is set
up
for the
existing
institutions.
They
are not the best
;
they
are not
just
;
and in
respect
to
you, personally,
brave
young
man !
they
cannot be
justified. They
have,
it is most
true,
left
you
no acre for
your
own,
and no law but our
law,
to the
ordaining
of
which,
you
were no
party.
But
they
do an
swer the
end,
they
are
really friendly
to the
good
;
un
friendly
to the bad
;
they
second the
industrious,
and the
kind;
they
foster
genius. They really
have so much
flexibility
as to afford
your
talent and
character,
on the
whole,
the same chance of demonstration and success
which
they might
have,
if there was no law and no
prop
erty.
It is trivial and
merely superstitious
to
say
that noth-
THE CONSERVATIVE. 251
ing
is
given you,
no
outfit,
no exhibition
;
for in this in
stitution of
credit,
which is as universal as
honesty
and
promise
in the human
countenance,
always
some
neighbor
stands
ready
to be bread and land and tools and stock to
the
young
adventurer. And if in
any
one
respect they
have come
short,
see what
ample
retribution of
good they
have made.
They
have lost no time and
spared
no
expense
to collect
libraries, museums,
galleries, colleges,
palaces, hospitals,
observatories,
cities. The
ages
have
not been
idle,
nor
kings
slack,
nor the rich
niggardly.
Have we not atoned for this small offence
(which
we
could not
help)
of
leaving you
no
right
in the
soil,
by
this
splendid indemnity
of ancestral and national wealth ?
Would
you
have been born like a
gypsy
in a
hedge,
and
preferred your
freedom on a
heath,
and the
range
of a
planet
which had no shed or
boscage
to cover
yon
from
sun and
wind,
to this towered and citied world? to
this world of
Rome,
and
Memphis,
and
Constantinople,
and
Vienna,
and
Paris,
and
London,
and New York ?
For thee
Naples,
Florence,
and
Venice,
for thee the fair
Mediterranean,
the
sunny
Adriatic
;
for thee both Indies
smile;
for thee the
hospitable
North
opens
its heated
palaces
under the
polar
circle
;
for thee roads have been
cut in
every
direction across the
land,
and fleets of float-
Ing palaces
with
every security
for
strength,
and
provision
for
luxury,
swim
by
sail and
by
steam
through
all the
waters of this world.
Every
island for thee has a town
;
every
town a hotel.
Though
thou wast born
landless,
yet
to
thy industry
and thrift and small
condescension to
the
established
usage,
scores of servants are swarm
ing
in
every strange place
with
cap
and knee to
thy
252 THE CONSERVATIVE.
command, scores,
nay
hundreds and
thousands,
for
thy
wardrobe,
thy
table,
thy
chamber,
thy library, thy
leisure
;
and
every
whim is
anticipated
and served
by
the best
ability
of the whole
population
of each
country.
The
king
on the throne
governs
for
thee,
and the
judge
judges;
the barrister
pleads,
the farmer
tills,
the
joiner
hammers,
the
postman
rides. Is it not
exaggerating
a
trifle to insist on a formal
acknowledgment
of
your
claims,
when these substantial
advantages
have been
secured to
you
? Now can
your
children be
educated,
your
labor turned to their
advantage,
and its fruits se
cured to them after
your
death. It is frivolous to
say,
you
have no
acre,
because
you
have not a
mathematically
measured
piece
of land. Providence takes care that
you
shall have a
place,
that
you
are waited
for,
and come ac
credited
; and,
as soon as
you put your gift
to
use,
you
shall have acre or acre s worth
according
to
your
exhibi
tion of
desert, acre,
if
you
need land
;
acre s
worth,
if
you prefer
to
draw,
or
carve,
or make
shoes,
or
wheels,
to the
tilling
of the soil.
Besides,
it
might temper your indignation
at the
sup
posed wrong
which
society
has done
you,
to
keep
the
question
before
you,
how
society got
into this
predica
ment ? Who
put things
on this false basis ? No
single
man,
but all men. No man
voluntarily
and
knowingly
;
but it is the result of that
degree
of culture there is in
the
planet.
The order of
things
is as
good
as the char
acter of the
population permits.
Consider it as the
work of a
great
and beneficent and
progressive necessity,
which,
from the first
pulsation
in the first animal
life,
up
to the
present high
culture of the best
nations,
has
THE CONSERVATIVE. 253
advanced thus far. Thank the rude foster-mother
though
she has
taught you
a better wisdom than her
own,
and
has set
hopes
in
your
heart which shall be
history
in the
next
ages.
You are
yourself
the result of this manner
of
living,
this foul
compromise,
this
vituperated
Sodom.
It nourished
you
with care and love on its breast as it
had nourished
many
a lover of the
right,
and
many
a
poet,
and
prophet,
and teacher of men. Is it so irreme
diably
bad ? Then
again,
if the
mitigations
are con
sidered,
do not all the mischiefs
virtually
vanish ? The
form is
bad,
but see
you
not how
every personal
char
acter reacts on the
form,
and makes it new ? A
strong
person
makes the law and custom null before his own
will. Then the
principle
of love and truth
reappears
in
the strictest courts of fashion and
property.
Under the
richest
robes,
in the
darlings
of the selectest circles of
European
or American
aristocracy,
the
strong
heart will
beat with love of
mankind,
with
impatience
of accidental
distinctions,
with the desire to achieve its own
fate,
and
make
every
ornament it wears authentic and real.
Moreover,
as we have
already
shown that there is no
pure
reformer,
so it is to be considered that there is no
pure
conservative,
no man who from the
beginning
to
the end of his life
maintains the defective institutions
;
but he who sets his face like a flint
against every novelty,
when
approached
in the confidence of
conversation,
in
the
presence
of
friendly
and
generous persons,
has also
his
gracious
and
relenting
moments,
and
espouses
for the
time the cause of man
;
and even if this be a short-lived
emotion,
yet
the remembrance of it in
private
hours
mitigates
his selfishness and
compliance
with custom.
254 THE
CONSERVATIVE.
The Friar Bernard lamented in his cell on Mount
Cenis the crimes of
mankind,
and
rising
one
morning
before
day
from his bed of moss and
dry
leaves,
he
gnawed
his roots and
berries,
drank of the
spring,
and
set forth to
go
to Rome to reform the
corruption
of
mankind. On his
way
he encountered
many
travellers
who
greeted
him
courteously
;
and the cabins of the
peasants
and the castles of the lords
supplied
his few
wants. When he came at last to
Rome,
his
piety
and
good-will easily
introduced him to
many
families of the
rich,
and on the first
day
he saw and talked with
gentle
mothers with their babes at their
breasts,
who told him
how much love
they
bore their
children,
and how
they
were
perplexed
in their
daily
walk lest
they
should fail
in their
duty
to them. What! he
said,
and this on
rich embroidered
carpets,
on marble
floors,
with
cunning
sculpture,
and carved
wood,
and rich
pictures,
and
piles
of books about
you
? Look at our
pictures
and
books,
they
said,
and we will tell
you, good
Father,
how we
spent
the last
evening.
These are stories of
godly
children and
holy
families and romantic sacrifices
made in old or in recent times
by great
and not mean
persons
;
and last
evening,
our
family
was
collected,
and
our husbands and brothers discoursed
sadly
on what we
could save and
give
in the hard times. Then came in
the
men,
and
they
said,
What
cheer,
brother ? Does
thy
convent want
gifts
? Then the Friar Bernard went
home
swiftly
with other
thoughts
than he
brought, say
ing,
This
way
of life is
wrong, yet
these
Romans,
whom I
prayed
God to
destroy,
are
lovers,
they
are
lovers
;
what can I do ?
THE CONSERVATIVE. 255
The reformer concedes that these
mitigations
exist,
and
that,
if he
proposed
comfort,
he should take sides
with the establishment. Your words are
excellent,
but
they
do not tell the whole. Conservatism is affluent and
open-handed,
but there is a
cunning juggle
in riches. I
observe that
they
take somewhat for
everything they
give.
I look
bigger,
but am less
;
I have more
clothes,
but am not so warm
;
more
armor,
but less
courage
;
more
books,
but less wit. What
you say
of
your
planted,
builded,
and decorated world is true
enough,
and I
gladly
avail
myself
of its convenience
;
yet
I have
remarked that what holds in
particular,
holds in
general,
that the
plant
Man does not
require
for his most
glorious
flowering
this
pomp
of
preparation
and
convenience,
but
the
thoughts
of some
beggarly
Homer who
strolled,
God
knows
when,
in the
infancy
and barbarism of the old
world
;
the
gravity
and sense of some slave Moses who
leads
away
his fellow-slaves from their masters
;
the con
templation
of some
Scythian
Anacharsis
;
the
erect,
for
midable valor of some Dorian townsmen in the town of
Sparta
;
the
vigor
of Clovis the
Prank,
and Alfred the
Saxon,
and Alaric the
Goth,
and
Mahomet, Ali,
and
Omar the
Arabians,
Saladin the
Kurd,
and Othrnan the
Turk,
sufficed to build what
you
call
society,
on the
spot
and in the instant when the sound mind in a sound
body
appeared.
Rich and fine is
your
dress,
conservatism !
your
horses are of the best blood
;
your
roads are well
cut and well
paved
;
your pantry
is full of meats and
your
cellar of
wines,
and a
very good
state and condition
are
you
for
gentlemen
and ladies to live
under;
but
every
one of these
goods
steals
away
a
drop
of
my
blood.
256
THE CONSERVATIVE.
I want the
necessity
of
supplying my
own wants. All
this
costly
culture of
yours
is not
necessary.
Greatness
does not need it. Yonder
peasant,
who sits
neglected
there in a
corner,
carries a whole revolution of man and
nature in his
head,
which shall be a sacred
history
to
some future
ages.
For man is the end of nature
;
noth
ing
so
easily organizes
itself in
every part
of the universe
as he : no
moss,
no
lichen,
is so
easily
born
;
and he
takes
along
with him and
puts
out from himself the whole
apparatus
of
society
and condition
extempore,,
as an
army
encamps
in a
desert,
and where all was
just
now
blowing
sand,
creates a white
city
in an
hour,
a
government,
a mar
ket,
a
place
for
feasting,
for
conversation,
and for love.
These
considerations,
urged by
those whose characters
and whose fortunes are
yet
to be
formed,
must needs
command the
sympathy
of all reasonable
persons.
But
beside that
charity
which should make all adult
persons
interested for the
youth,
and
engage
them to see that he
has a free field and fair
play
on his entrance into
life,
we
are bound to see that the
society,
of which we
compose
a
part,
does not
permit
the formation or continuance of
views and
practices injurious
to the honor and welfare
of mankind. The
objection
to
conservatism,
when em
bodied in a
party,
is,
that in its love of
acts,
it hates
principles
;
it lives in the
senses,
not in truth
;
it sacri
fices to
despair
;
it
goes
for availableness in its candi
date,
not for worth
;
and for
expediency
in its
measures,
and not for the
right.
Under
pretence
of
allowing
for
friction,
it makes so
many
additions and
supplements
to
the machine of
society,
that it will
play smoothly
and
softly,
but will no
longer grind any grist.
THE CONSERVATIVE.
257
The conservative
party
in the universe concedes that
the
radical
would talk
sufficiently
to the
purpose,
if we
were still
in the
garden
of Eden
;
he
legislates
for man
as he
ought
to be
;
his
theory
is
right,
but he makes
no allowance for friction
;
and this omission makes his
whole doctrine false. The idealist
retorts,
that the con
servative
falls into a far more noxious error in the other
extreme.
The conservative assumes sickness as a neces
sity,
and his social frame is a
hospital,
his total
legisla
tion is for the
present
distress,
a universe in
slippers
and
flannels,
with bib and
pap-spoon, swallowing pills
and
herb-tea. Sickness
gets organized
as well as
health,
the
vice as well as the virtue. Now that a vicious
system
of
trade has existed so
long,
it has
stereotyped
itself in the
human
generation,
and misers are born. And now that
sickness has
got
such a
foothold,
leprosy
has
grown
cunning,
has
got
into the ballot-box
;
the
lepers
outvote
the
clean;
society
has resolved itself into a
Hospital
Committee,
and all its laws are
quarantine.
If
any
man
resist,
and set
up
a foolish
hope
he has entertained as
good against
the
general despair, society
frowns on
him,
shuts him out of her
opportunities,
her
granaries,
her re
fectories,
her water and
bread,
and will serve him a sex
ton s turn. Conservatism takes as low a view of
every
part
of human action and
passion.
Its
religion
is
just
as bad
;
a
lozenge
for the sick
;
a dolorous tune to be
guile
the
distemper
;
mitigations
of
pain by pillows
and
anodynes
;
always mitigations,
never remedies
;
pardons
for
sin,
funeral
honors,
never
self-help,
renovation,
and
virtue. Its social and
political
action has no better aim
;
to
keep
out wind and
weather,
to
bring
the week and
Q
258 THE CONSERVATIVE.
year
about,
and make the world last our
day
;
not to sit
on the world and steer it
;
not to sink the
memory
of the
pasjt
in the
glory
of a new and more excellent creation
;
a timid cobbler and
patcher,
it
degrades
whatever it
touches. The cause of education is
urged
in this coun
try
with the utmost
earnestness,
on what
ground
?
why
on
this,
that the
people
have the
power,
and if
they
are not instructed to
sympathize
with the
intelligent,
reading, trading,
and
governing
class,
inspired
with a
taste for the same
competitions
and
prizes, they
will
upset
the fair
pageant
of
Judicature,
and
perhaps lay
a
hand on the sacred muniments of wealth
itself,
and new
distribute the land.
Religion
is
taught
in the same
spirit.
The contractors
who were
building
a road out of
Baltimore,
some
years ago,
found the Irish laborers
quarrelsome
and
refractory,
to a
degree
that embarrassed
the
agents,
and
seriously interrupted
the
progress
of the
work. The
corporation
were advised to call off the
police,
and build a Catholic
chapel,
which
they
did;
the
priest presently
restored
order,
and the work went on
prosperously.
Such
hints,
to be
sure,
are too valuable
to be lost. If
you
do not value the
Sabbath,
or other
religious
institutions,
give yourself
no concern about
maintaining
them.
They
have
already acquired
a mar
ket value as conservators of
property
;
and if
priest
and
church-member should
fail,
the chambers of commerce
and the
presidents
of the
banks,
the
very
innholders and
landlords of the
county,
would muster with
fury
to their
support.
Of
course,
religion
in such hands loses its essence.
Instead of that
reliance,
which the soul
suggests
on the
THE CONSERVATIVE. 259
eternity
of truth and
duty,
men are misled into a reliance
on
institutions, which,
the moment
they
cease to be the
instantaneous creations of the devout
sentiment,
are
worthless.
Religion among
the low becomes low. As
it loses its
truth,
it loses credit with the
sagacious.
They
detect the falsehood of the
preaching,
but when
they say
so,
all
good
citizens
cry,
Hush
;
do not weaken
the
state,
do not take off the
strait-jacket
from dan
gerous persons. Every
honest fellow must
keep up
the hoax the best he can
;
must
patronize providence
and
piety,
and wherever he sees
anything
that will
keep
men
amused,
schools or churches or
poetry,
or
picture-galleries
or
music,
or what
not,
he must
cry,
"
Hist-a-boy,"
and
urge
the
game
on. What a
compli
ment we
pay
to the
good
SPIRIT with our
superservice-
able zeal !
But not to balance reasons for and
against
the estab
lishment
any longer,
and if it still be asked in this neces
sity
of
partial organization,
which
party
on the whole has
the
highest
claims on our
sympathy
? I
bring
it home
to the
private
heart,
where all such
questions
must have
their final arbitrament. How will
every strong
and
gen
erous mind choose its
ground,
with the defenders of
the old ? or with the seekers of the new ? Which is that
state which
promises
to
edify
a
great,
brave,
and benefi-
cient man
;
to throw him on his
resources,
and tax the
strength
of his character ? On which
part
will each of
us find himself in the hour of health and of
aspiration
?
I understand well the
respect
of mankind for
war,
because that breaks
up
the Chinese
stagnation
of
society,
and demonstrates the
personal
merits of all men. A
260 THE CONSERVATIVE.
state of war or
anarchy,
in which law has little
force,
is
so far
valuable,
that it
puts every
man on trial. The
man of
principle
is known as
such,
and even in the
fury
of faction is
respected.
In the civil wars of
France,
Montaigne
alone,
among
all the French
gentry, kept
his
castle
gates
unbarred,
and made his
personal integrity
as
good
at least as a
regiment.
The man of
courage
and
resources is
shown,
and the effeminate and base
person.
Those who rise above
war,
and those who fall below
it,
it
easily
discriminates,
as well as those
who,
accepting
its rude
conditions,
keep
their own head
by
their own
sword.
But in
peace
and a commercial state we
depend,
not as
we
ought,
on our
knowledge
and all men s
knowledge
that we are honest
men,
but we
cowardly
lean on the
virtue of others. For it is
always
the virtue of some
men in the
society,
which
keeps
the law in
any
reverence
and
power.
Is there not
something
shameful that I
should owe
my peaceful occupancy
of
my
house and
field,
not to the
knowledge
of
my countrymen
that I am use
ful,
but to their
respect
for
sundry
other
reputable per
sons,
I know not
whom,
whose
joint
virtues still
keep
the law in
good
odor ?
It will never make
any
difference to a hero what the
laws are. His
greatness
will shine and
accomplish
itself
unto the
end,
whether
they
second him or not. If he
have earned his bread
by drudgery,
and in the narrow
and crooked
ways
which were all an evil law had left
him,
he will make it at least honorable
by
his
expendi
ture. Of the
past
he will take no heed
;
for its
wrongs
he will not hold himself
responsible
: he will
say,
all the
THE CONSERVATIVE.
261
meanness of
my progenitors
shall not bereave me of the
power
to make this hour and
company
fair and fortunate.
Whatsoever streams of
power
and
commodity
flow to
me,
shall of me
acquire healing
virtue,
and become fountains
of
safety.
Cannot I too descend a Redeemer
into na
ture ? Whosoever hereafter shall name
my
name,
shall
not record a
malefactor,
but a benefactor in the earth.
If there be
power
in
good
intention,
in
fidelity,
and in
toil,
the north-wind shall be
purer,
the stars in heaven
shall
glow
with a kindlier
beam,
that I have lived. I am
primarily engaged
to
myself
to be a
public
servant of all
the
gods,
to demonstrate to all men that there is intelli
gence
and
good-will
at the heart of
things,
and ever
higher
and
yet higher leadings.
These are
my engage
ments
;
how can
your
law further or hinder me in what
1 shall do to men ? On the other
hand,
these
disposi
tions establish their relations to me. Wherever there is
worth I shall be
greeted.
Wherever there are
men,
are
the
objects
of
my study
and love. Sooner or later all
men will be
my
friends,
and will
testify
in all methods
the
energy
of their
regard.
I cannot thank
your
law for
my protection.
I
protect
it. It is not in its
power
to
protect
me. It is
my
business to make
myself
revered.
I
depend
on
my
honor,
my
labor,
and
my dispositions,
for
my place
in the affections of
mankind,
and not on
any
conventions or
parchments
of
yours.
But if I allow
myself
in
derelictions,
and become idle
and
dissolute,
I
quickly,
come to love the
protection
of a
strong
law,
because I feel no title in
myself
to
my
advan
tages.
To the
intemperate
and
covetous
person
no love
flows
;
to him mankind would
pay
no
rent,
no
dividend,
262
THE
CONSERVATIVE.
if force were once relaxed
;
nay,
if
they
could
give
their
verdict,
they
would
say,
that his
self-indulgence
and his
oppression
deserved
punishment
from
society,
and not
that rich board and
lodging
he now
enjoys.
The law
acts then as a screen of his
unworthiness,
and makes him
worse the
longer
it
protects
him.
In
conclusion,
to return from this alternation of
partial
views,
to the
high platform
of universal and
necessary
history,
it is a
happiness
for mankind that innovation
has
got
on so
far,
and has so free a field before it. The
boldness of the
hope
men entertain transcends all former
experience.
It calms and cheers them with the
picture
of a
simple
and
equal
life of truth and
piety.
And this
hope
flowered on what tree ? It was not
imported
from
the stock of some celestial
plant,
but
grew
here on the
wild crab of conservatism. It is much that this old and
vituperated system
of
things
has borne so fair a child.
It
predicts
that,
amidst a
planet peopled
with conserva
tives,
one Reformer
may yet
be born.
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM
A LECTURE HEAD AT THE MASONIC
TEMPLE,
BOSTON,
JANUARY,
1842.
THE TBANSCENDENTALIST.
THE first
thing
we have to
say respecting
what are
called new views here in New
England,
at the
present
time, is,
that
they
are not
new,
but the
very
oldest of
thoughts
cast into the mould of these new times. The
light
is
always
identical in its
composition,
but it falls on
a
great variety
of
objects,
and
by
so
falling
is first re
vealed to
us,
not in its own
form,
for it is
formless,
but
in theirs
;
in like
manner,
thought only appears
in the
objects
it classifies. What is
popularly
called Tran
scendentalism
among
us,
is Idealism
;
Idealism as it
ap
pears
in 1842. As
thinkers,
mankind have ever divided
into two
sects,
Materialists and
Idealists;
the first class
founded on
experience,
the second on consciousness
;
the first class
beginning
to think from the data of the
senses,
the second class
perceive
that the senses are not
final,
and
say
the senses
give
us
representations
of
things,
but what are the
things
themselves,
they
cannot tell.
The materialist insists on
facts,
on
history,
on the force
of
circumstances,
and the animal wants of
man;
the
idealist,
on the
power
of
Thought
and of
Will,
on in
spiration,
on
miracle,
on individual culture. These two
modes of
thinking
are both
natural,
but the idealist con
tends that his
way
of
thinking
is in
higher
nature. He
12
266 THE
TRANSCENDENTALIST.
concedes all that the other
affirms,
admits the
impres
sions of
sense,
admits their
coherency,
their use and
beauty,
and then asks the materialist for his
grounds
of
assurance that
tilings
are as his senses
represent
them.
But
I,
he
says,
affirm facts not affected
by
the illusions
of
sense,
facts which are of the same nature as the fac
ulty
which
reports
them,
and not liable to doubt
;
facts
which in their first
appearance
to us assume a native
superiority
to material
facts,
degrading
these into a lan
guage by
which the first are to be
spoken
;
facts which
it
only
needs a retirement from the senses to discern.
Every
materialist will be an idealist
;
but an idealist can
never
go
backward to be a materialist.
The
idealist,
in
speaking
of
events,
sees them as
spirits.
He does not
deny
the sensuous fact:
by
no
means
;
but he will not see that alone. He does not
deny
the
presence
of this
table,
this
chair,
and the walls
of this
room,
but he looks at these
things
as the reverse
side of the
tapestry,
as the other
end,
each
being
a
sequel
or
completion
of a
spiritual
fact which
merely
concerns
him. This manner of
looking
at
things
transfers
every
object
in nature from an
independent
and anomalous
position
without
there,
into the consciousness. Even
the materialist
Condillac,
perhaps
the most
logical
ex
pounder
of
materialism,
was constrained to
say
:
"
Though
we should soar into the
heavens,
though
we should sink
into the
abyss,
we never
go
out of ourselves
;
it is
always
our own
thought
that we
perceive."
What more
could an idealist
say
?
The
materialist,
secure in the
certainty
of
sensation,
mocks at
fine-spun
theories,
at
star-gazers
and
dreamers,
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM 267
and believes that his life is
solid,
that he at least takes
nothing
for
granted,
but knows where he
stands,
and
what lie does. Yet how
easy
it is to show him that he
also is a
phantom walking
and
working
amid
phantoms,
and that he need
only
ask a
question
or two
beyond
his
daily questions,
to find his solid universe
growing
dim
and
impalpable
before his sense. The
sturdy capitalist,
no matter how
deep
and
square
on blocks of
Quincy
granite
he
lays
the foundations of his
banking-house
or
Exchange,
must set
it,
at
last,
not on a cube
correspond
ing
to the
angles
of his
structure,
but on a mass of
unknown materials and
solidity,
red-hot or
white-hot,
perhaps
at the
core,
which rounds off to an almost
per
fect
sphericity,
and lies
floating
in soft
air,
and
goes
spinning away, dragging
bank and banker with it at
a rate of thousands of miles the
hour,
he knows not
whither,
a bit of
bullet,
now
glimmering,
now dark
ling through
a small cubic
space
on the
edge
of an unim
aginable pit
of
emptiness.
And this wild
balloon,
in
which his whole venture is
embarked,
is a
just symbol
of his whole state and
faculty.
One
thing,
at
least,
he
says,
is
certain,
and does not
give
me the
headache,
that
figures
do not lie
;
the
multiplication-table
has been hith
erto found
unimpeachable
truth
; and, moreover,
if I
put
a
gold eagle
in
my
safe,
I find it
again
to-morrow
;
but
for these
thoughts,
I know not whence
they
are.
They
change
and
pass away.
But ask him
why
he believes
that an uniform
experience
will continue
uniform,
or on
what
grounds
he founds his faith in his
figures,
and he
will
perceive
that his mental fabric is built
up
on
just
as
strange
and
quaking
foundations as his
proud
edi
fice of stone.
268 THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
In the order of
thought,
the materialist takes his
departure
from the external
world,
and esteems a man
as one
product
of that. The idealist takes his
departure
from his
consciousness,
and reckons the world an
appear
ance. The materialist
respects
sensible
masses,
Society,
Government,
social
art,
and
luxury, every
establishment,
every
mass,
whether
majority
of
numbers,
or extent of
space,
or amount of
objects, every
social action. The
idealist has another
measure,
which is
metaphysical,
namely,
the rank which
things
themselves take in his
consciousness
;
not at
all,
the size or
appearance.
Mind
is the
only reality,
of which men and all other natures
are better or worse reflectors.
Nature, literature,
his
tory,
are
only subjective phenomena. Although
in his
action
overpowered by
the laws of
action,
and
so,
warmly co-operating
with
men,
even
preferring
them to
himself,
yet
when he
speaks scientifically,
or after the
order of
thought,
he is constrained to
degrade persons
into
representatives
of truths. He does not
respect
labor,
or the
products
of
labor,
namely, property,
other
wise than as a manifold
symbol, illustrating
with wonder
ful
fidelity
of details the laws of
being
;
he does not
respect government, except
as far as it reiterates the
law of his mind
;
nor the church
;
nor charities
;
nor
arts,
for
themselves;
but
hears,
as at a vast
distance,
what
they say,
as if his consciousness would
speak
to
him
through
a
pantomimic
scene. His
thought,
that
is the Universe. His
experience
inclines him to behold
the
procession
of facts
you
call the
world,
as
flowing
perpetually
outward from an
invisible,
unsounded centre
in
himself,
centre alike of him and of
them,
and necessi-
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM 269
tating
him to
regard
all
things
as
having
a
subjective
or
relative
existence,
relative to that aforesaid Unknown
Centre of him.
From this transfer of the world into the
consciousness,
this
beholding
of all
things
in the
mind,
follow
easily
his
whole ethics. It is
simpler
to be
self-dependent.
The
height,
the
deity
of man
is,
to be
self-sustained,
to need
no
gift,
no
foreign
force.
Society
is
good
when it does
not violate
me;
but best when it is likest to solitude.
Everything
real is self-existent.
Everything
divine
shares the self-existence of
Deity.
All that
you
call the
world is the shadow of that substance which
you
are,
the
perpetual
creation of the
powers
of
thought,
of those
that are
dependent
and of those that are
independent
of
your
will. Do not cumber
yourself
with fruitless
pains
to mend and
remedy
remote effects
;
let the soul be
erect,
and all
things
will
go
well. You think me the
child of
my
circumstances : I make
my
circumstance.
Let
any thought
or motive of mine be different from that
they
are,
the difference will transform
my
condition and
economy.
I this
thought
which is called I is the
mould into which the world is
poured
like melted wax.
The mould is
invisible,
but the world
betrays
the
shape
of the mould. You call it the
power
of
circumslance,
but it is the
power
of me. Am I in
harmony
with
my
self?
my position
will seem to
you just
and command
ing.
Am I vicious and insane ?
my
fortunes will seem
to
you
obscure and
descending.
As I
am,
so shall I
associate,
and so shall I act
;
Caesar s
history
will
paint
out Csesar. Jesus acted
so,
because he
thought
so. I
do not wish to overlook or to
gainsay any reality
;
270
THE
TRANSCENpENTALIST.
I
say,
I make
my
circumstance : but if
you
ask
me,
Whence am I? I feel like other men
my
relation to
that Fact which cannot be
spoken
or
defined,
nor even
thought,
but which
exists,
and will exist.
The Transcendentalist
adopts
the whole connection
of
spiritual
doctrine. He believes in
miracle,
in the
perpetual openness
of the human mind to new influx
of
light
and
power;
he believes in
inspiration
and in
ecstasy.
He wishes that the
spiritual principle
should
be suffered to demonstrate itself to the
end,
in all
possi
ble
applications
to the state of
man,
without the admis
sion of
anything unspiritual
;
that
is,
anything positive,
dogmatic, personal.
Thus,
the
spiritual
measure of
inspiration
is the
depth
of the
thought,
and
never,
who
said it ? And so he resists all
attempts
to
palm
other
rules and measures on the
spirit
than its own.
In
action,
he
easily
incurs the
charge
of antinomian-
ism
by
his avowal that
he,
who has the
Lawgiver, may
with
safety
not
only neglect,
but even contravene
every
written commandment. In the
play
of
Othello,
the
expiring
Desdemona absolves her husband of the mur
der,
to her attendant Emilia.
Afterwards,
when Emilia
charges
him with the
crime,
Othello
exclaims,
"
You heard her
say
herself it was not I."
Emilia
replies,
"
The more
angel
she,
and thou the blacker devil."
Of this fine
incident, Jacobi,
the Transcendental
mor
alist,
makes
use,
with other
parallel
instances,
in his
reply
to Fichte.
Jacobi,
refusing
all measure of
right
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM 271
and
wrong except
the determinations of the
private
spirit,
remarKs that there is no crime but has sometimes
been a virtue.
"
I,"
he
says,
"
am that
atheist,
that
godless person
who,
in
opposition
to an
imaginary
doctrine of
calculation,
would lie as the
dying
Desde-
mona lied
;
would lie and
deceive,
as
Py
lades when he
personated
Orestes
;
would assassinate like Timoleon
;
would
perjure myself
like
Epaminondas,
and John de
Witt
;
I would resolve on suicide like Cato
;
I would
commit
sacrilege
with David
;
yea,
and
pluck
ears of
corn on the
Sabbath,
for no other reason than that I was
fainting
for lack of food.
For,
I have assurance in
myself,
that,
in
pardoning
these faults
according
to the
letter,
man exerts the
sovereign right
which the
majesty
of his
being
confers on
him;
he sets the seal of his
divine nature to the
grace
he accords."
*
In like
manner,
if there is
anything grand
and
daring
in human
thought
or
virtue,
any
reliance on the
vast,
the unknown
;
any presentiment
;
any extravagance
of
faith,
the
spiritualist adopts
it as most in nature. The
Oriental mind has
always
tended to this
largeness.
Buddhism is an
expression
of it. The Buddhist who
thanks no
man,
who
says,
"
Do not natter
your
benefac
tors,"
but
who,
in his conviction that
every good
deed
can
by
no
possibility escape
its
reward,
will not
deceive
the benefactor
by pretending
that he has done more than
he
should,
is a Transcendentalist.
You will see
by
this sketch that there is no
such
thing
as a Transcendental
party
;
that there is no
pure
Tran-
*
Coleridge
s
Translation.
272 THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
scendentalist
;
that we know of none but
prophets
and
heralds of such a
philosophy
;
that all who
by strong
bias
of nature have leaned to the
spiritual
side in
doctrine,
have
stopped
short of their
goal.
We have had
many
harbingers
and
forerunners;
but of a
purely spiritual
life,
history
has afforded no
example.
I
mean,
we have
yet
no man who has leaned
entirely
on his
character,
and
eaten
angels
food; who,
trusting
to his
sentiments,
found life made of miracles
; who,
working
for
universal
aims,
found himself
fed,
he knew not how :
clothed,
shel
tered,
and
weaponed,
he knew not
how,
and
yet
it was
done
by
his own hands.
Only
in the instinct of the
lower
animals,
we find the
suggestion
of the methods of
it,
and
something higher
than our
understanding.
The
squirrel
hoards
nuts,
and the bee
gathers honey,
without
knowing
what
they
do,
and
they
are thus
provided
for
without selfishness or
disgrace.
Shall we
say,
then,
that Trancendentalism is the Sa
turnalia or excess of Faith
;
the
presentiment
of a faith
proper
to man in his
integrity,
excessive
only
when his
imperfect
obedience hinders the satisfaction of his wish ?
Nature is
transcendental,
exists
primarily, necessarily,
ever works and
advances,
yet
takes no
thought
for the
morrow. Man owns the
dignity
of the life which throbs
around him in
chemistry,
and
tree,
and
animal,
and in
the
involuntary
functions of his own
body
;
yet
he is
balked when he tries to
fling
himself into this enchanted
circle,
where all is done without
degradation.
Yet
gen
ius and virtue
predict
in man the same absence of
pri
vate
ends,
and of condescension to
circumstances,
united
with
every
trait and talent of
beauty
and
power.
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 273
This
way
of
thinking, falling
on Roman
times,
made
Stoic
philosophers;
falling
on
despotic
times,
made
pa
triot Catos and
Brutuses;
falling
on
superstitious
times,
made
prophets
and
apostles
;
on
popish
times,
made
prot-
estants and ascetic
monks,
preachers
of Faith
against
the
preachers
of Works
;
on
prelatical
times,
made Puritans
and
Quakers
;
and
falling
on Unitarian and commercial
times,
makes the
peculiar
shades of Idealism which we
know.
It is well known to most of
my
audience,
that the
Idealism of the
present day acquired
the name of Tran
scendental,
from the use of that term
by
Immanuel
Kant,
of Kb
nigsberg,
who
replied
to the
sceptical philos
ophy
of
Locke,
which insisted that there was
nothing
in
the intellect which was not
previously
in the
experience
of the
senses,
by showing
that there was a
very impor
tant class of
ideas,
or
imperative
forms,
which did not
come
by experience,
but
through
which
experience
was
acquired;
that these were intuitions of the mind
itself;
and he denominated them Transcendental forms. The
extraordinary profoundness
and
precision
of that man s
thinking
have
given vogue
to his
nomenclature,
in
Europe
and
America,
to that
extent,
that whatever be
longs
to the class of
intuitive
thought,
is
popularly
called at the
present day
Transcendental,
Although,
as we have
said,
there is no
pure
Transcen-
dentalist,
yet
the
tendency
to
respect
the
intuitions,
and
to
give
them at least in our creed all
authority
over our
experience,
has
deeply
colored the conversation and
po
etry
of the
present day
;
and the
history
of
genius
and of
religion
in these
times,
though
impure,
and as
yet
not
12*
B.
274 THE TRANSCENDENTALISM
incarnated in
any powerful
individual,
will be the
history
of this
tendency.
It is a
sign
of our
times,
conspicuous
to the closest
observer,
that
many intelligent
and
religious persons
withdraw themselves from the common labors and com
petitions
of the market and the
caucus,
and betake
themselves to a certain
solitary
and critical
way
of
living,
from which no solid fruit has
yet appeared
to
justify
their
separation. They
hold themselves aloof:
they
feel the
disproportion
between their faculties and
the work offered
them,
and
they prefer
to ramble in the
country
and
perish
of ennui to the
degradation
of such
charities
and such ambitions as the
city
can
propose
to
them.
They
are
striking
work,
and
crying
out for some
what
worthy
to do ! What
they
do,
is done
only
because
they
are
overpowered by
the humanities that
speak
on
all sides
;
and
they
consent to such labor as is
open
to
them,
though
to their
lofty
dream the
writing
of Iliads
or
Hamlets,
or the
building
of cities or
empires,
seems
drudgery.
Now
every
one must do after his
kind,
be he
asp
or
angel,
and these must. The
question,
which a wise man
and a student of modern
history
will
ask, is,
what that
kind is ? And
truly,
as in ecclesiastical
history
we take so
much
pains
to know what the
Gnostics,
what the
Essenes,
what the
Manichees,
and what the Reformers
believed,
it would not misbecome us to
inquire
nearer
home,
what
these
companions
and
contemporaries
of ours think and
do,
at least so far as these
thoughts
and actions
appear
to be not accidental
and
personal,
but common
to
many,
and the inevitable flower of the Tree of Time. Our
THE TRANSCENDENTALIST. 275
American literature and
spiritual history
are,
we
confess,
in the
optative
mood
;
but whoso knows these
seething
brains,
these admirable
radicals,
these unsocial
worship
pers,
these talkers who talk the sun and moon
away,
will
believe that this
heresy
cannot
pass away
without leav
ing
its mark.
They
are
lonely
;
the
spirit
of their
writing
and con
versation is
lonely
;
they repel
influences
;
they
shun
general society
;
they
incline to shut themselves
in their
chamber in the
house,
to live in the
country
rather than
in the
town,
and to find their tasks and amusements in
solitude.
Society,
to be
sure,
does not like this
very
well
;
it
saith,
Whoso
goes
to walk
alone,
accuses the
whole world
;
he declareth all to be unfit to be his com
panions
;
it is
very
uncivil,
nay, insulting
;
Society
will
retaliate.
Meantime,
this retirement does not
proceed
from
any
whim on the
part
of these
separators
;
but if
any
one will take
pains
to talk with
them,
he will find
that this
part
is chosen both from
temperament
and from
principle
;
with some
unwillingness,
too,
and as a choice
of the less of two
evils;
for these
persons
are not
by
nature
melancholy,
sour,
and
unsocial,
they
are not
stockish or
brute,
but
joyous; susceptible,
affection
ate
;
they
have even more than others a
great
wish to be
loved. Like the
young
Mozart,
they
are rather
ready
to
cry
ten times a
day,
"
But are
you
sure
you
love me ?
"
Nay,
if
they
tell
you
their whole
thought, they
will own
that love seems to them the last and
highest gift
of na
ture
;
that there are
persons
whom in their hearts
they
daily
thank for
existing, persons
whose faces are
per
haps
unknown to
them,
but whose fame and
spirit
have
276 THE TRANSCENDENTALISM
1
.
penetrated
their
solitude,
and for whose sake
they
wish to exist. To behold the
beauty
of another charac
ter,
which
inspires
a new interest in our own
;
to behold
the
beauty lodged
in a human
being,
with such
vivacity
of
apprehension,
that I am
instantly
forced home to in
quire
if I am not
deformity
itself : to behold in another
the
expression
of a love so
high
that it assures
itself,
assures itself also to me
against every possible casualty
except my
unworthiness
;
these are
degrees
on the scale
of human
happiness,
to which
they
have ascended
;
and
it is a
fidelity
to this sentiment
which has made common
association distasteful to
them.<JCJiey
wish a
just
and
even
fellowship,
or none.
They
cannot
gossip
with
you,
and
they
do not
wish,
as
they
are sincere and
religious,
to
gratify any
mere
curiosity
which
you may
entertain.
Like
fairies,
they
do not wish to be
spoken
of. Love
me,
they say,
but do not ask who is
my
cousin and
my
uncle. If
you
do not need to hear
my thought,
because
you
can read it in
my
face and
my
behavior,
then I
will tell it
you
from sunrise to sunset. If
you
cannot
divine
it,
you
would not understand what I
say.
I
will not molest
myself
for
you.
I do not wish to be
profaned.
And
yet,
it seems as if this
loneliness,
and not this
love,
would
prevail
in their
circumstances,
because of the
extravagant
demand
they
make on human nature.
That,
indeed,
constitutes a new feature in their
portrait,
that
they
are the most
exacting
and extortionate critics.
Their
quarrel
with
every
man
they
meet is not with his
kind,
but with his
degree.
There is not
enough
of
him,
that is the
only
fault.
They prolong
their
privilege
ot
THE TRANSCENDENTAL1ST. 277
childhood
in this
wise,
of
doing nothing,
but
making
immense demands on all the
gladiators
in the lists of
action and fame.
They
make us feel the
strange disap
pointment
which overcasts
every
human
youth.
So
many
promising youths,
and never a finished man ! The
pro
found nature will have a
savage
rudeness
;
the delicate
one will be
shallow,
or the victim of
sensibility
;
the
richly accomplished
will have some
capital absurdity
;
and
so
every piece
has a crack. T is
strange,
but this mas
terpiece
is a result of such an extreme
delicacy,
that the
most unobserved flaw in the
boy
will neutralize the most
aspiring genius,
and
spoil
the work. Talk with a sea
man of the hazards to life in his
profession,
and he will
ask
you,
"Where are the old sailors? do
you
not see
that all are
young
men ?
"
And
we,
on this sea of hu
man
thought,
in like manner
inquire,
Where are the old
idealists ? Where are
they
who
represented
to the last
generation
that
extravagant hope,
which a few
happy
aspirants suggest
to ours? In
looking
at the class of
counsel,
and
power,
and
wealth,
and at the
matronage
of
the
land,
amidst all the
prudence
and all the
triviality,
one
asks,
Where are
they
who
represented genius,
vir
tue,
the invisible and
heavenly
world,
to these ? Are
they
dead,
taken in
early ripeness
to the
gods,
as
ancient wisdom foretold their fate ? Or did the
high
idea die out of
them,
and leave their
unperfumed body
as
its tomb and
tablet,
announcing
to all that the celestial
inhabitant,
who once
gave
them
beauty,
had
departed
?
Will it be better with the new
generation
? We
easily
predict
a fair future to each new candidate who enters
the
lists,
but we are frivolous and
volatile,
and
by
low
278 THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
aims and ill
example
do what we can to defeat this
hope.
Then these
youths bring
us a
rough
but effectual aid.
By
their unconcealed dissatisfaction
they expose
our
poverty,
and the
insignificance
of man to man. A man
is a
poor limitary
benefactor. He
ought
to be a shower
of
benefits,
a
great influence,
which should never let
his brother
go,
but should refresh old merits
continually
with new ones
;
so
that,
though
absent,
he should never
be out of
my
mind,
his name never far from
my lips
;
but if the earth should
open
at
my
side,
or
my
last hour
were
come,
his name should be the
prayer
I should utter
to the Universe. But in our
experience,
man is
cheap,
and
friendship
wants its
deep
sense. We affect to
dwell with our friends in their
absence,
but we do not
;
when
deed, word,
or letter comes
not,
they
let us
go.
These
exacting
children advertise us of our
wants.
There is no
compliment,
no smooth
speech
with them
;
they pay you only
this one
compliment,
of
insatiable ex
pectation
;
they aspire, they
severely
exact,
and if
they
only
stand fast in this
watch-tower,
and
persist
in de
manding
unto the
end,
and without
end,
then are
they
terrible
friends,
whereof
poet
and
priest
cannot choose
but stand in awe
;
and what if
they
eat
clouds,
and drink
wind,
they
have not been without service to the race of
man.
With this
passion
for what is
great
and
extraordinary,
it cannot be wondered
at,
that
they
are
repelled by
vul
garity
and
frivolity
in
people:
j
They say
to
themselves,
It is better to be alone than in bad
company.
And it is
really
a wish to be
met,
the wish to find
society
for
their
hope
and
religion,
which
prompts
them to shun
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM 279
what is called
society. They
feel that
they
are never so
fit for
friendship,
as when
they
have
quitted
mankind,
and taken themselves to friend. A
picture,
a
book,
a
favorite
spot
in the hills or the
woods,
which
they
can
people
with the fair and
worthy
creation of the
fancy,
can
give
them often forms so
vivid,
that these for the
time shall seem
real,
and
society
the illusion.
But their
solitary
and fastidious manners not
only
withdraw them from the
conversation,
but from the
labors of the world
;
they
are not
good
citizens,
not
good
members of
society
;
unwillingly they
bear their
part
of
the
public
and
private
burdens
;
they
do not
willingly
share in the
public
charities,
in the
public religious
rites,
in the
enterprises
of
education,
of missions
foreign
or
domestic,
in the abolition of the
slave-trade,
or in the
temperance society. They
do not even like to vote.
The
philanthropists inquire
whether Transcendentalism
does not mean sloth :
they
had as lief hear that their
friend is
dead,
as that he is a Transcendentalist
;
for
then is he
paralyzed,
and can never do
anything
for
humanity.
What
right,
cries the
good
world,
has the
man of
genius
to retreat from
work,
and
indulge
him
self? The
popular literary
creed seems to
be,
I am a
sublime
genius;
I
ought
not therefore to labor. But
genius
is the
power
to labor better and more
availably.
Deserve
thy genius
: exalt it. The
good,
the illumi
nated,
sit
apart
from the
rest,
censuring
their dulness
and
vices,
as if
they thought
that,
by sitting very grand
in their
chairs,
the
very
brokers,
attorneys,
and
congress
men would see the error of their
ways,
and flock to
them. But the
good
and wise must learn to
act,
and
280 THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
carry
salvation to the
combatants and
demagogues
in
the
dusty
arena below.
On the
part
of
these
children,
it is
replied,
that life
and their
faculty
seem to them
gifts
too rich to be
squandered
on such trifles as
you propose
to them.
What
you
call
your
fundamental
institutions,
your great
and
holy
causes,
seem to them
great
abuses,
and when
nearly
seen,
paltry
matters. Each
Cause,
as it is
called,
say
Abolition,
Temperance, say
Calvinism,
or
Unitarianism,
becomes
speedily
a little
shop,
where
the
article,
let it have been at first never so subtle and
ethereal,
is now made
up
into
portable
and convenient
cakes,
arid retailed in small
quantities
to suit
purchasers.
You make
very
free use of these words
great
and
holy,
but few
things appear
to them such. Few
persons
have
any magnificence
of nature to
inspire
enthusiasm,
and
the
philanthropies
and charities have a certain air of
quackery.
As to the
general
course of
living,
and the
daily employments
of
men,
they
cannot see much virtue
in
these,
since
they
are
parts
of this vicious circle
; and,
as no
great
ends are answered
by
the
men,
there is
nothing
noble in the arts
by
which
they
are maintained.
Nay, they
have made the
experiment,
and found
that,
from the liberal
professions
to the coarsest manual
labor,
and from the courtesies of the
academy
and the
college
to the conventions of the cotillon-room and the
morning
call,
there is a
spirit
of
cowardly compromise
and seem
ing,
which intimates a
frightful scepticism,
a life with
out
love,
and an
activity
without an aim.
Unless the action is
necessary,
unless it is
adequate,
I
do not wish to
perform
it. I do not wish to do one
THE TE.ANSCENDENTALIST. 281
thing
but once. I do not love routine. Once
possessed
of the
principle,
it is
equally easy
to make four or
forty
thousand
applications
of it. A
great
man will be content
to have indicated in
any
the
slightest
manner his
percep
tion of the
reigning
Idea of his
time,
and will leave to
those who like it the
multiplication
of
examples.
When
he has hit the
white,
the rest
may
shatter the
target.
Everything
admonishes us how
needlessly long
life is.
Every
moment of a hero so raises and cheers
us,
that
a twelvemonth is an
age.
All that the brave Xanthus
brings
home from his
wars,
is the recollection
that,
at the
storming
of
Samos,
"in the heat of the
battle,
Pericles
smiled on
me,
and
passed
on to another detachment."
It is the
quality
of the
moment,
not the number of
days,
of
events,
or of
actors,
that
imports.
New,
we
confess,
and
by
no means
happy,
is our con
dition : if
you
want the aid of our
labor,
we ourselves
stand in
greater
want of the labor. We are miserable
with
inaction. We
perish
of rest and rust : but we do
not like
your
work.
Then,
5
says
the
world,
show me
your
own.
We have none.
What
will
you
do,
then ? cries the world.
We will wait/
How
long
?
Until the Universe beckons and calls us to work.
But whilst
you
wait,
you grow
old and useless.
Be it so : I can sit in a corner and
perish (as you
call
it),
but I will not move until I have the
highest
com
mand. If no call should come for
years,
for
centuries,
then I know that the want of the Universe is the attesta-
282 THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
tion of faith
by my
abstinence. Your virtuous
projects,
so
called,
do not cheer me. I know that which shall
come will cheer me. If I cannot
work,
at least I need
not lie. All that is
clearly
due
to-day
is not to lie. In
other
places,
other men have encountered
sharp
trials,
and have behaved themselves well. The
martyrs
were
sawn
asunder,
or
hung
alive on meat-hooks. Cannot we
screw our
courage
to
patience
and
truth,
and without
complaint,
or even with
good-humor,
await our turn of
action in the Infinite Counsels ?
But to come a little closer to the secret of these
per
sons,
we must
say,
that to them it seems a
very easy
matter to answer the
objections
of the man of the
world,
but not so
easy
to
dispose
of the doubts and
objections
that occur to themselves.
They
are exercised in their
own
spirit
with
queries,
which
acquaint
them with all ad
versity,
and with the trials of the bravest heroes. When
I asked them
concerning
their
private experience, they
an
swered somewhat in this wise : It is not to be denied that
there must be some wide difference between
my
faith and
other faith
;
and mine is a certain brief
experience,
which
surprised
me in the
highway
or in the
market,
in some
place,
at some
time,
whether in the
body
or out of the
body,
God
knoweth,
and made me aware that I had
played
the fool with fools all this
time,
but that law
existed for me and for all
;
that to me
belonged
trust,
a
child s trust and
obedience,
and the
worship
of
ideas,
and
I should never be fool more.
Well,
in the
space
of an
hour,
probably,
I was let down from this
height
;
I was
at
my
old
tricks,
the selfish member of a selfish
society.
My
life is
superficial,
takes no root in the
deep
world
;
I
THE
TRANSCENDENTALIST. 283
ask,
When shall I
die,
and be relieved of the
responsibil
ity
of
seeing
an Universe which I do not use ? I wish to
exchange
this
flash-of-lightning
faith for continuous
day
light,
this
fever-glow
for a
benign
climate.
These two states of
thought diverge every
moment,
and stand in wild contrast. To him who looks at his life
Trom
these moments of
illumination,
it will seem that he
skulks and
plays
a
mean, shiftless,
and subaltern
part
in
the world. That is to be done which he has not skill to
do,
or to be said which others can
say
better,
and he lies
by,
or
occupies
his hands with some
plaything,
until his
hour comes
again.
Much of our
reading,
much of our
labor,
seems mere
waiting
: it was not that we-were born
for.
Any
other could do it as
well,
or better. So little
skill enters into these
works,
so little do
they
mix
with
the divine
life,
that it
really signifies
little what we
do,
whether we turn a
grindstone,
or
ride,
or
run,
or make
fortunes,
or
govern
the state. The worst feature of this
double consciousness
is,
that the two
lives,
of the under
standing
and of the
soul,
which we
lead,
really
show
very
little relation to each
other,
never meet and measure each
other : one
prevails
now,
all buzz and din
;
and the other
prevails
then,
all infinitude and
paradise
;
and with the
progress
of
life,
the two discover no
greater disposition
to reconcile themselves. Yet what is
my
faith ? What
am I ? What but a
thought
of
deep serenity
and inde
pendence,
an abode in the
deep
blue
sky
?
Presently
the
clouds shut down
again
;
yet
we retain the belief that
this
petty
web we weave will at last be overshot and
reticulated with veins of the
blue,
and that the moments
will characterize the
days.
Patience, then,
is for
us,
is it
284
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM
not ?
Patience,
and still
patience.
When we
pass,
a*
presently
we
shall,
into some new
infinitude,
out of this
Iceland
of
negations,
it will
please
us to reflect
that,
though
we had few virtues or
consolations,
we bore with
our
indigence,
nor once strove to
repair
it with
hypocrisy
or false heat of
any
kind.
But this class are not
sufficiently
characterized,
if we
omit to add that
they
are lovers and
worshippers
of
Leauty.
In the eternal
trinity
of
Truth, Goodness,
and
Beauty,
each in its
perfection
including
the
three,
they
prefer
to make
Beauty
the
sign
and head.
Something
of the same taste is observable
in all the moral move
ments of the
time,
in the
religious
and benevolent enter,
prises.
They
have a
liberal,
even an aesthetic
spirit.
A
reference to
Beauty
in action
sounds,
to be
sure,
a little
hollow and ridiculous in the ears of the old church.
In
politics,
it has often
sufficed,
when
they
treated of
justice,
if
they kept
the bounds of selfish calculation. If
they
granted
restitution,
it was
prudence
which
granted
it.
But the
justice
which is now claimed for the
black,
and
the
pauper,
and the drunkard is for
Beauty,
is for a
necessity
to the soul of the
agent,
not of the
beneficiary.
I
say,
this is the
tendency,
not
yet
the realization. Our
virtue totters and
trips,
does not
yet
walk
firmly.
Its
representatives
are austere
;
they preach
and denounce
;
their rectitude is not
yet
a
grace. They
are still liable
to that
slight
taint of
burlesque
which,
in our
strange
world,
attaches to the zealot. A saint should be as dear
as the
apple
of the
eye.
Yet we are
tempted
to
smile,
and we flee from the
working
to the
speculative
reformer,
to
escape
that same
slight
ridicule. Alas for these
days
THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
285
of derision
and criticism
! We call the Beautiful the
highest,
because
it
appears
to us the
golden
mean,
es
caping
the dowdiness
of the
good,
and the heartlessness
of the true.
They
are lovers of nature
also,
and find an
indemnity
in the inviolable order of the world for the
violated order
and
grace
of man.
There
is,
no
doubt,
a
great
deal of well-founded
objec
tion to be
spoken
or felt
against
the
sayings
and
doings
of this
class,
some of whose traits we have selected
;
no
doubt,
they
will
lay
themselves
open
to criticism and to
lampoons,
and as ridiculous stories will be to be told
of them as of
any.
There will be cant and
pretension
;
there will be
subtilty
and moonshine. These
persons
are of
unequal strength,
and do not all
prosper. They
complain
that
everything
around them must be denied
;
and if
feeble,
it takes all their
strength
to
deny,
before
they
can
begin
to lead their own life. Grave seniors
insist on their
respect
to this
institution,
and that
usage
;
to an obsolete
history
;
to some
vocation,
or
college,
or
etiquette,
or
beneficiary,
or
charity,
or
morning
or even
ing
call,
which
they
resist,
as what does not concern
them. But it costs such
sleepless nights,
alienations and
misgivings, they
have so
many
moods about it
;
these old
guardians
never
change
their minds
;
they
have
but one mood on the
subject, namely,
that
Antony
is
very perverse,
that it is
quite
as much as
Antony
can
do,
to assert his
rights,
abstain from what he thinks fool
ish,
and
keep
his
temper.
He cannot
help
the reaction
of this
injustice
in his own mind. He is braced
up
and
stilted
;
all freedom and
flowing genius,
all sallies of wit
and frolic
nature,
are
quite
out of the
question
;
it is well
286 THE TRANSCENDENTALISM
if he can
keep
from
lying, injustice,
and suicide. Tins is
no time for
gayety
and
grace.
His
strength
and
spirits
are wasted in
rejection.
But the
strong spirits
over
power
those around them without effort. Their
thought
and emotion comes in like a
flood,
quite
withdraws them
from all notice of these
carping
critics
;
they
surrender
themselves with
glad
heart to the
heavenly guide,
and
only by implication reject
the clamorous nonsense of the
hour. Grave seniors talk to the
deaf,
church and old
book mumble and ritualize to an
unheeding, preoccupied
and
advancing
mind,
and thus
they by happiness
of
greater
momentum lose no
time,
but take the
right
road
at first.
But all these of whom I
speak
are not
proficients;
they
are novices
;
they only
show the road in which
man should
travel,
when the soul has
greater
health and
prowess.
Yet let them feel the
dignity
of their
charge,
and deserve a
larger power.
Their heart is the ark in
which the fire is
concealed,
which shall burn in a broader
and universal flame. Let them
obey
the Genius then
most when his
impulse
is
wildest;
then most when he
seems to lead to uninhabitable deserts of
thought
and
life;
for the
path
which the hero travels alone is the
highway
of health and benefit to mankind. What is the
privilege
and
nobility
of our
nature,
but its
persistency,
through
its
power
to attach itself to what is
perma
nent ?
Society
also has its duties in reference to this
class,
and must behold them with what
charity
it can. Pos
sibly
some benefit
may yet
accrue from them to the
state. In our Mechanics
Fair,
there must be not
only
THE TRANSCENDENTALISM 287
bridges, ploughs, carpenters planes,
and
baking-troughs,
but also some few finer
instruments,
rain-gauges,
ther
mometers,
and
telescopes
;
and in
society,
besides farm
ers, sailors,
and
weavers,
there must be a few
persons
of
purer
fire
kept specially
as.
gauges
and meters of char
acter;
persons
of a
fine,
detecting
instinct,
who note
the smallest accumulations
of wit and
feeling
in the
bystander. Perhaps
too there
might
be room for the
exciters and monitors
;
collectors of the
heavenly spark
with
power
to
convey
the
electricity
to others.
Or,
as
the storm-tossed vessel at sea
speaks
the
frigate
or line
packet
to learn its
longitude,
so it
may
not be without
its
advantage
that we should now and then encounter
rare and
gifted
men,
to
compare
the
points
of our
spir
itual
compass,
and
verify
our
bearings
from
superior
chronometers.
Amidst
the downward
tendency
and
proneness
of
things,
when
every
voice is raised for a new road or an
other
statute,
or a
subscription
of
stock,
for an
improve
ment in
dress,
or in
dentistry,
for a new house or a
larger
business,
for a
political party,
or the division of an
estate,
will
you
not tolerate one or two
solitary
voices in the
land,
speaking
for
thoughts
and
principles
not
marketable
or
perishable
? Soon these
improvements
and mechani
cal inventions will be
superseded
;
these modes of
living
lost out of
memory
;
these cities
rotted,
ruined
by
war,
by
new
inventions,
by
new seats of
trade,
or the
geologic
changes
: all
gone
like the shells which
sprinkle
the
sea-beach with a white
colony to-day,
forever renewed to
be forever
destroyed.
But the
thoughts
which these few
hermits strove to
proclaim
by
silence,
as well as
by
288 THE
TRANSCENDENTALISM
speech,
not
only by
what
they
did,
but
by
what
thej
forbore to
do,
shall abide in
beauty
and
strength
to reor
ganize
themselves in
nature,
to invest themselves anew
in
other,
perhaps higher
endowed and
happier
mixed
clay
than
ours,
in fuller union with the
surrounding
system.
THE
YOUNG
AMERICAN.
A
LECTURE
READ
BEFORE
THE
MERCANTILE
LIBRARY
Asso-
*,
BOSTON, FEBRUARY
7,
1844.
THE YOUNG
AMEEICAN.
GENTLEMEN :
It is remarkable that our
people
have their
intellectual
culture from one
country,
and their duties from
another.
This false state of
things
is
newly
in a
way
to be
corrected.
America is
beginning
to assert itself to the senses and to
the
imagination
of her
children,
and
Europe
is
receding
in the same
degree.
This their reaction on
education
gives
a new
importance
to the internal
improvements
and
to the
politics
of the
country.
Who has not been stimu
lated to reflection
by
the facilities now in
progress
of con
struction for travel and the
transportation
of
goods
in the
United States ?
This
rage
of
road-building
is beneficent for
America,
where vast distance is so main a consideration in our do
mestic
politics
and
trade,
inasmuch as the
great
political
promise
of the invention is to hold the Union
stanch,
whose
days
seemed
already
numbered
by
the mere incon
venience of
transporting representatives,
judges,
and offi
cers across such tedious distances of land and water.
Not
only
is distance
annihilated,
but
when,
as
now,
the
locomotive and the
steamboat,
like enormous
shuttles,
shoot
every day
across the thousand various threads of
national descent and
employment,
and bind them fast in
one
web,
an
hourly
assimilation
goes forward,
and there
J
292 THE YOUNG
AMERICAN.
is no
danger
that local
peculiarities
and
hostilities should
be
preserved.
1. But I hasten to
speak
of the
utility
of these im
provements
in
creating
an American sentiment. An un
looked-for
consequence
of the railroad is the increased
acquaintance
it has
given
the American
people
with the
boundless resources of their own soil. If this invention
has reduced
England
to a third of its
size,
by bringing
people
so much
nearer,
in this
country
it has
given
a new
"
celerity
to
time,
or
anticipated by fifty years
the
planting
of tracts of
land,
the choice of
water-privileges,
the work
ing
of
mines,
and other natural
advantages.
Railroad
iron is a
magician
s
rod,
in its
power
to evoke the
sleep
ing energies
of land and water.
The railroad is but one arrow in our
quiver, though
it
has
great
value as a sort of
yard-stick,
and
surveyor
s
line. The bountiful continent is
ours,
state on
state,
and
territory
on
territory,
to the waves of the Pacific sea
;
"
Our
garden
is the immeasurable
earth,
The heaven s blue pillars
are Medea s house."
The task of
surveying, planting,
and
building upon
this
immense tract
requires
an education
and r. sentiment
commensurate
thereto. A consciousness
of this fact is
beginning
to take the
place
of the
purely
trading spirit
and education which
sprang up
whilst all the
popula
tion lived on the
fringe
of sea-coast. And even on the
coast
prudent
men have
begun
to see that
every
Amer
ican should oe educated with a view to the values of
land. The arts of
engineering
and of architecture are
studied;
scientific
agriculture
is an
object
cf
growing
THE YOUNG AMEEICAN. 293
attention;
the mineral riches are
explored,
limestone,
coal, slate,
and
iron;
and the value of timber-lands is
enhanced.
Columbus
alleged
as a reason for
seeking
a continent
in the
West,
that the
harmony
of nature
required
a
great
tract of land in the western
hemisphere,
to balance the
known extent of land in the eastern
;
and it now
appears
that we must estimate the native values of this broad
region
to redress the balance of our own
judgments,
and
appreciate
the
advantages opened
to the human race in
this
country,
which is our fortunate home. The land
is^
the
appointed remedy
for whatever is false and fantastic
in our culture. The continent we inhabit is to be
physic
and food for our
mind,
as well as our
body.
The
land,
with its
tranquillizing,
sanative
influences,
is to
repair
the
errors of a scholastic and traditional
education,
and
bring
us into
just
relations with men and
things.
The habit of
living
in the
presence
of these invitations
of natural wealth is not
inoperative
;
and this
habit,
com
bined with the moral sentiment
which,
in the recent
years,
has
interrogated every
institution,
usage,
and
law,
has
naturally given
a
strong
direction to the wishes and aims
of active
young
men to withdraw from
cities,
and culti
vate the soil. This inclination has
appeared
in the most
unlooked-for
quarters,
in men
supposed
to be absorbed
in
business,
and in those connected with the liberal
pro
fessions. And since the walks of trade were
crowded,
whilst that of
agriculture
cannot
easily
be,
inasmuch as
the farmer who is not wanted
by
others can
yet grow
his own
bread,
whilst the manufacturer or the trader who
is not wanted
cannot,
this seemed a
happy tendency.
294 THE
YOUNG
AMERICAN.
For,
beside all the moral benefit which we
may
expect
from the farmer s
profession,
when a man enters it con
siderately,
this
promised
the
conquering
of the
soil,
plenty,
and
beyond
this,
the
adorning
of the
country
with
every advantage
and ornament which
labor,
ingenu
ity,
and affection for a man s home could
suggest.
Meantime,
with
cheap
land,
and the
pacific disposition
of the
people, everything
invites to the arts of
agricul
ture,
of
gardening,
and
domestic architecture. Public
gardens,
on the scale of such
plantations
in
Europe
and
Asia,
are now unknown to us. There is no feature of
the old countries that strikes an American with more
agreeable surprise
than the beautiful
gardens
of
Europe
;
such as the Boboli in
Florence,
the Villa
Borghese
in
Rome,
the Villa d Este in
Tivoli,
the
gardens
at
Munich,
and at Erankfort on the Main: works
easily
imitated
here,
and which
might
well make the land dear to the
citizen,
and inflame
patriotism.
It is the fine art which
is left for
us,
now that
sculpture, painting,
and
religious
and civil architecture have become
effete,
and have
passed
into second childhood. We have
twenty degrees
of latitude wherein to choose a
seat,
and the new modes
of
travelling enlarge
the
opportunity
of
selection,
by
making
it
easy
to cultivate
very
distant
tracts,
and
yet
remain in strict intercourse with the centres of trade and
.population.
And the whole force of all the arts
goes
to
*
facilitate the decoration of lands and
dwellings.
A
gar
den has this
advantage,
that it makes it indifferent where
you
live. A well-laid
garden
makes the face of the coun
try
of no
account;
let that be low or
high, grand
or
mean,
you
have made a beautiful abode
worthy
of man.
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 295
If the
landscape
is
pleasing,
the
garden
shows
it,
if
tame,
it excludes it. A little
grove,
which
any
farmer
can
find,
or cause to
grow
near his
house, will,
in a few
years,
make cataracts and chains of mountains
quite
unnecessary
to his
scenery
;
and he is so contented with
his
alleys,
woodlands, orchards,
and
river,
that
Niagara,
and the Notch of the White
Hills,
and Nantasket Beach
are
superfluities.
And
yet
the selection of a fit house-
lot has the same
advantage
over an indifferent
one,
as
the selection to a
given employment
of a man who has a
genius
for that work. In the last
case,
the culture of
years
will never make the most
painstaking apprentice
his
equal
: no more will
gardening give
the
advantage
of
a
happy
site to a house in a hole or on a
pinnacle.
In
America,
we have hitherto little to boast in this kind.
The cities drain the
country
of the best
part
of its
popu
lation : the flower of the
youth,
of both
sexes,
goes
into
the
towns,
and the
country
is cultivated
by
a so much
inferior class. The land travel a whole
day together
looks
poverty-stricken,
and the
buildings plain
and
poor.
In
Europe,
where
society
has an aristocratic
structure,
the land is full of men of the best
stock,
and
the best
culture,
whose interest and
pride
it is to remain
half the
year
on their
estates,
and to fill them with
every
convenience and ornament. Of
course,
these make model
farms,
and model
architecture,
and are a constant educa
tion to the
eye
of the
surrounding population.
Whatever
events in
progress
shall
go
to
disgust
men with
cities,
and infuse into them the
passion
for
country
life,
and
country pleasures,
will render a service to the whole face
of this
continent,
and will further the most
poetic
of all
*
296 THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
1 the
occupations
of real
life,
the
bringing
out
by
art the
native but hidden
graces
of the
landscape.
I look on such
improvements,
also,
as
directly tending
io endear the land to the inhabitant.
Any
relation to
/the
land,
the habit of
tilling
it,
or
mining
it,
or even
*
hunting
on
it,
generates
the
feeling
of
patriotism.
He
who
keeps shop
on
it,
or he who
merely
uses it as a
sup
port
to his desk and
ledger,
or to his
manufactory,
values
it less. The vast
majority
of the
people
of this
country
live
by
the
land,
and
carry
its
quality
in their manners
and
opinions.
We in the Atlantic
States,
by position,
have been
commercial,
and
have,
as I
said,
imbibed
easily
an
European
culture.
Luckily
for
us,
now that
steam has narrowed the Atlantic to a
strait,
the
nervous,
I
rocky
West is
intruding
a new and continental element
J into the national
mind,
and we shall
yet
have an Amer
ican
genius.
How much better when the whole land is
a
garden,
and the
people
have
grown up
in the bowers of
a
paradise.
Without
looking,
then,
to those extraordi
nary
social influences which are now
acting
in
precisely
this
direction,
but
only
at what is
inevitably doing
around
us,
I think we must
regard
the land as a com
manding
and
increasing power
on the
citizen,
the sana
tive and
Americanizing
influence,
which
promises
to dis
close new virtues for
ages
to come.
2. In the second
place,
the
uprise
and culmination of
/ the new and anti-feudal
power
of Commerce is the
politi
cal fact of most
significance
to the American at this
hour.
We cannot look on the freedom of this
country,
in con
nection with its
youth,
without a
presentiment
that here
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 297
shall laws and institutions exist on some scale of
propor
tion to the
majesty
of nature. To men
legislating
for the
area betwixt the two
oceans,
betwixt the snows and the
tropics,
somewhat of the
grandeur
of nature will infuse
itself into the code. A
heterogeneous population
crowd
ing
on all
ships
from all corners of the world to the
great
gates
of North
America,
namely,
Boston,
New
York,
and
New
Orleans,
and thence
proceeding
inward to the
prairie
and the
mountains,
and
quickly contributing
their
private
thought
to the
public opinion,
their toll to the
treasury,
and their vote to the
election,
it cannot be doubted that
the
legislation
of this
country
should become more cath-
^
olic and
cosmopolitan
than that of
any
other. It seems
so
easy
for America to
inspire
and
express
the most ex
pansive
and humane
spirit;
new-born, free, healthful,
strong,
the land of the
laborer,
of the
democrat,
of the
philanthropist,
of the
believer,
of the
saint,
she should
speak
for the human race. It is the
country
of the Fu-*X
ture. From
Washington, proverbially
"
the
city
of
mag
nificent
distances,"
through
all its
cities, States,
and Terri
tories,
it is a
country
of
beginnings,
of
projects,
of
designs,
and
expectations.
Gentlemen,
there is a sublime and
friendly Destiny by
which the human race is
guided
the race never
dying,
the individual never
spared
to results
affecting
masses
and
ages.
Men are narrow and
selfish,
but the Genius
or
Destiny
is not
narrow,
but beneficent. It is not dis
covered in their calculated and
voluntary activity,
but in
what
befalls,
with or without their
design. Only
what is ,
inevitable interests
us,
and it turns out that love and
good
are
inevitable,
and in the course of
things.
That
13*
298 THE YOUNG
AMERICAN.
Genius has infused itself into nature. It indicates itseft
by
a small excess of
good,
a small balance in brute facts
always
favorable to the side of reason. All the facts in
any part
of nature shall be
tabulated,
and the results
shall indicate the same
security
and benefit
;
so
slight
as
to be
hardly
observable,
and
yet
it is there. The
sphere
is flattened at the
poles,
and swelled at the
equator;
a
form
flowing necessarily
from the fluid
state,
yet
the
form,
the mathematician assures
us,
required
to
prevent
the
protuberances
of the
continent,
or even of lesser moun
tains cast
up
at
any
time
by earthquakes,
from
continually
deranging
the axis of the earth. The census of the
popu
lation is found to
keep
an invariable
equality
in the
sexes,
with a
trifling predominance
in favor of the
male,
as if to
counterbalance
the
necessarily
increased
exposure
of male
life in
war,
navigation,
and other accidents. Remark the
unceasing
effort
throughout
nature at somewhat better
than the actual creatures : amelioration in
nature,
which
alone
permits
and authorizes amelioration in mankind.
The
population
of the world is a conditional
population
;
these are not the
best,
but the best that could live in the
existing
state of
soils,
gases,
animals,
and morals: the
best that could
yet
live
;
there shall be a
better,
please
God. This
Genius,
or
Destiny,
is of the sternest adminis
tration,
though
rumors exist of its secret tenderness. It
may
be
styled
a cruel
kindness,
serving
the whole even
to the ruin of the member
;
a terrible
communist,
reserv
ing
all
profits
to the
community,
without dividend to in
dividuals. Its law
is,
you
shall have
everything
as a
member,
nothing
to
yourself.
For Nature is the noblest
engineer,
yet
uses a
grinding economy, working up
all
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 299
that is wasted
to-day
into to-morrow s creation
;
not a
superfluous grain
of
sand,
for all the ostentation she
makes of
expense
and
public
works. It is because
Nature thus saves and
uses,
laboring
for the
general,
that we
poor particulars
are so crushed and
straitened,
and find it so hard to live. She
flung
us out in her
plenty,
but we cannot shed a
hair,
or a
paring
of a
nail,
but
instantly
she snatches at the
shred,
and
appropriates
it to the
general
stock. Our condition is like that of the
poor
wolves : if one of the flock wound
himself,
or so
much as
limp,
the rest eat him
up incontinently.
That serene Power
interposes
the check
upon
the ca
prices
and officiousness of our wills. Its
charity
is not
our
charity.
One of its
agents
is our
will,
but that
which
expresses
itself in our will is
stronger
than our will.
We
are
very
forward to
help
it,
but it will not be
accelerated.
It resists our
meddling, eleemosynary
contrivances. We
devise
sumptuary
and relief
laws,
but the
principle
of
population
is
always reducing wages
to
the lowest
pit
tance on which human life can be
sustained. We
legis
late
against forestalling
and
monopoly
;
we would have a
common
granary
for the
poor
;
but the selfishness which
hoards the corn for
high prices,
is the
preventive
of fam
ine
;
and the law of
self-preservation
is surer
policy
than
any legislation
can be. We
concoct
eleemosynary sys
tems,
and it turns out that our
charity
increases
pauper
ism. We inflate our
paper
currency,
we
repair
com
merce with
unlimited
credit,
and are
presently
visited
with unlimited
bankruptcy.
It is
easy
to see that the
existing generation
are con
spiring
with a
beneficence, which,
in its
working
fot
300 THE
YOUNG
AMERICAN.
coming generations,
sacrifices the
passing
one,
which
infatuates the most selfish men to act
against
their
pri
vate interest for the
public
welfare. We build
railroads,
we know not for what or for whom
;
but one
thing
is
/certain,
that we who build will receive the
very
smallest
v/
share of benefit. Benefit will accrue
;
they
are essential
to the
country,
but that will be felt not until we are no
longer countrymen.
We do the like in all matters :
"
Man s heart the
Almighty
to the Future set
By
secret and inviolable
springs."
We
plant
trees,
we build stone
houses,
we redeem the
waste,
we make
prospective
laws,
we found
colleges
and
hospitals,
for remote
generations.
We should be morti
fied to learn that the little benefit we chanced in our own
persons
to receive was the utmost
they
would
yield.
* The
history
of commerce is the record of this bene
ficent
tendency.
The
patriarchal
form of
government
readily
becomes
despotic,
as each
person may
see in his
own
family.
Fathers wish to be fathers of the minds of
their
children,
and behold with
impatience
a new char
acter and
way
of
thinking presuming
to show itself in
their own son or
daughter.
This
feeling,
which all their
love and
pride
in the
powers
of their children cannot
subdue,
becomes
petulance
and
tyranny
when the head
of the
clan,
the
emperor
of an
empire,
deals with the
same difference of
opinion
in his
subjects.
Difference of
opinion
is the one crime which
kings
never
forgive.
An
empire
is an immense
egotism.
"
I am the
State,"
said
the French Louis. When a French ambassador men
tioned to Paul of
Russia,
that a man of
consequence
ic
THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
301
St.
Petersburgh
was
interesting
himself in some
matter,
the Czar
interrupted
him :
"
There is no man of conse
quence
in this
empire,
but he with whom I am
actually
speaking;
and so
long only
as I am
speaking
to
him,
is he of
any consequence."
And the
emperor
Nicholas
is
reported
to have said to his council: "The
age
is
embarrassed with new
opinions
;
rely
on
me,
gentlemen,
I shall
oppose
an iron will to the
progress
of liberal
opin
ions."
It is
easy
to see that this
patriarchal
or
family manage
ment
gets
to be rather troublesome to all but the
papa
;
the
sceptre
comes to be a crow-bar. And this
unpleasant
egotism,
Feudalism
opposes,
and
finally destroys.
The
king
is
compelled
to call in the aid of his brothers and
cousins,
and remote
relations,
to
help
him
keep
his over
grown
house in order
;
and this club of noblemen
always
come at last to have a will of their own
;
they
combine
to brave the
sovereign,
and call in the aid of the
people.
Each chief attaches as
many
followers as he
can,
by
kindness, maintenance,
and
gifts
;
and as
long
as war
lasts,
the
nobles,
who must be
soldiers,
rule
very
well.
But when
peace
comes,
the nobles
prove very
whimsical
and uncomfortable masters
;
their frolics turn out to be
insulting
and
degrading
to the commoner. Feudalism
grew
to be a bandit and
brigand.
Meantime Trade had
begun
to
appear
:
Trade,
a
plant
which
grows
wherever there is
peace,
as soon as there is
peace,
and as
long
as there is
peace.
The
luxury
and
necessity
of the noble fostered it. And as
quickly
as
men
go
to
foreign parts,
in
ships
or
caravans,
a new
order of
things springs up
; new command takes
place,
J
302 THE YOUNG AMEEICAN.
new servants and new masters. Their
information,
their
wealth,
their
correspondence,
have made them
quite
other men than left their native shore.
They
are nobles
now,
and
by
another
patent
than the
king
s. Feudalism
had been
good,
had broken the
power
of the
kings,
and
had some
good
traits of its own
;
but it had
grown
mis
chievous,
it was time for it to
die, and,
as
they say
of
dying people,
all its faults came out. Trade was the
strong
man that broke it
down,
and raised a new and
unknown
power
in its
place.
It is a new
agent
in the
world,
and one of
great
function
;
it is a
very
intellectual
force. This
displaces physical strength,
and installs
computation,
combination, information, science,
in its
room. It calls out all force of a certahi kind that slum
bered in the former
dynasties.
It is now in the midst of
its career. Feudalism is not ended
yet.
Our
govern
ments still
partake largely
of that element. Trade
goes
to make the
governments insignificant,
and to
bring
every
kind of
faculty
of
every
individual that can in
any
manner serve
any person,
on sale. Instead of a
huge
Army
and
Navy,
and Executive
Departments,
it converts
Government into an
Intelligence-Office,
where
every
man
may
find what he wishes to
buy,
and
expose
what he
has to
sell,
not
only produce
and
manufactures,
but
art,
skill,
and intellectual and moral values. This is the
good
and this the evil of
trade,
that it would
put every
thing
into
market, talent,
beauty,
virtue,
and man him
self.
The
philosopher
and lover of man have much harm to
say
of trade
;
but the historian will see that trade was
the
principle
of
Liberty
;
that trade
planted
America
and
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 303
destroyed
Feudalism
;
that it makes
peace
and
keeps
peace,
and it will abolish
slavery.
We
complain
of its
oppression
of the
poor,
and of its
building up
a new aris
tocracy
on the ruins of the
aristocracy
it
destroyed.
But
the
aristocracy
of trade has no
permanence,
is not en
tailed,
was the result of toil and
talent,
the result o
merit of some
kind,
and is
continually falling,
like the
waves of the
sea,
before new claims of the same sort.
Trade is an instrument in the hands of that
friendly
Power which works for us in our own
despite.
We
design
it thus and thus
;
it turns out otherwise and far
better. This beneficent
tendency, omnipotent
without
violence,
exists and works.
Every
line of
history
in
spires
a confidence that we shall not
go
far
wrong
;
that
things
mend. That is the moral of all we
learn,
that it
warrants
Hope,
the
prolific
mother of reforms. Our
part
is
plainly
not to throw ourselves across the
track,
to
block
improvement,
and sit till we are
stone,
but to
watch the
uprise
of successive
mornings,
and to
conspire
with the new works of new
days.
Government lias been
a fossil
;
it should be a
plant.
I conceive that the office
of statute law should be to
express,
and not to
impede
the mind of
mankind. New
thoughts,
new
things.
Trade was one
instrument,
but Trade is also but for a
time,
and must
give way
to somewhat broader and bet
ter,
whose
signs
are
already dawning
in the
sky.
3. I
pass
to
speak
of the
signs
of that which is the
sequel
of
trade.
In
consequence
of the revolution in the state of
society
wrought by
trade,
government
in our times is
beginning
to wear a
clumsy
and cumbrous
appearance.
We have
304 THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
already
seen our
way
to shorter methods. The time is
full of
good sigus.
Some of them shall
ripen
to fruit.
All this beneficent socialism is a
friendly
omen,
and the
swelling cry
of voices for the education of the
people,
/indicates that Government has other offices than those of
"
banker and executioner. Witness the new movements
in the civilized
world,
the Communism of
France,
Ger
many,
and Switzerland
;
the Trades Unions
;
the
Eng
lish
League against
the Corn Laws
;
and the whole
Industrial
Statistics,
so called. In
Paris,
the
blouse,
the
badge
of the
operative,
has
begun
to make its
ap
pearance
in the saloons.
Witness, too,
the
spectacle
of
three Communities which have within a
very
short time
-sprung up
within this
Commonwealth,
besides several
others undertaken
by
citizens of
Massachusetts within
the
territory
of other States. These
proceeded
from a
variety
of
motives,
from an
impatience
of
many usages
in
common
life,
from a wish for
greater
freedom than the
manners and
opinions
of
society permitted,
but in
great
part
from a
feeling
that the true offices of the
State,
the
State had let fall to the
ground
;
that in the scramble of
f
parties
for the
public purse,
the main duties of
govern
ment were
omitted,
the
duty
to instruct the
ignorant,
to
supply
the
poor
with work and with
good guidance.
These communists
preferred
the
agricultural
life as the
most favorable condition for human culture
;
but
they
thought
that the
farm,
as we
manage
it,
did not
satisfy
the
right
ambition of man. The
farmer,
after
sacrificing
pleasure,
taste, freedom,
thought,
love,
to his
work,
turns
out often a
bankrupt,
like the merchant. This result
might
well seem
astounding.
All this
drudgery,
from
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 305
cock-crowing
to
starlight,
for all these
years,
to end in
mortgages
and the auctioneer s
flag,
and
removing
from
bad to worse. It is time to have the
thing
looked
into,
and with a
sifting
criticism ascertained who is the fool.
It seemed a
great
deal
worse,
because the farmer is
living
in the same town with men who
pretend
to know
exactly
what he wants. On one
side,
is
agricultural chemistry,
coolly exposing
the nonsense of our
spendthrift agricul
ture and ruinous
expense
of
manures,
and
offering, by
means of a
teaspoonful
of artificial
guano,
to turn a
sandbank into corn
; and,
on the
other,
the
farmer,
not
only eager
for the
information,
but with bad
crops
and
in debt and
bankruptcy,
for want of it. Here are Etzlers
and mechanical
projectors,
who,
with the
Fourierists,
undoubtingly
affirm that the smallest union would make
every
man rich
; and,
on the other
side,
a multitude of
poor
men and women
seeking
work,
and who cannot find
enough
to
pay
their board. The science is
confident,
and
surely
the
poverty
is real. If
any
means could be
found to
bring
these two
together
!
This was one
design
of the
projectors
of the Associa
tions which are now
making
their first feeble
experiments.
They
were founded in
love,
and in labor.
They pro
posed,
as
you
know,
that all men should take a
part
in
the manual
toil,
and
proposed
to amend the condition
of
men,
by substituting
harmonious for hostile
industry.
It was a noble
thought
of
Fourier,
which
gives
a favor
able idea of his
system,
to
distinguish
in his Phalanx a
class as the Sacred
Baud,
by
whom whatever duties were
disagreeable,
and
likely
to be
omitted,
were to be as
sumed.
306
THE YOUNG
AMERICAN.
At
least,
an economical
success seemed certain for the
enterprise,
and that
agricultural
association
must,
sooner
or
later,
fix the
price
of
bread,
and drive
single
farmers
into
association,
in self-defence
;
as the
great
commercial
and
manufacturing companies
had
already
done. The
Community
is
only
the continuation
of the same move
ment which made the
joint-stock companies
for manufac
tures,
mining,
insurance,
banking,
and so forth. It has
turned out
cheaper
to make calico
by companies
;
and it
is
proposed
to
plant
corn and to bake bread
by
com
panies.
Undoubtedly,
abundant mistakes will be made
by
these first
adventurers,
which will draw ridicule on their
schemes. I
think,
for
example,
that
they exaggerate
the
importance
of a favorite
project
of
theirs,
that of
paying
talent and labor at one
rate,
paying
all sorts of service at
one
rate,
say
ten cents the hour.
They
have
paid
it so
;
but not an instant would a dime remain a dime. In one
hand it became an
eagle
as it
fell,
and in another hand a
copper
cent. For the whole value of the dime is
in
knowing
what to do with it. One man
buys
with it a
land-title of an
Indian,
and makes his
posterity princes
;
or
buys
corn
enough
to feed the world
;
or
pen,
ink,
and
paper,
or a
painter
s
brush,
by
which he can communi
cate himself to the human race as if he were fire
;
and
the other
buys barley candy. Money
is of no value
;
it
cannot
spend
itself. All
depends
on the skill of the
spender.
Whether, too,
the
objection
almost
universally
felt
by
such women in the
community
as were
mothers,
to an associate
life,
to a common
table,
and a common
nursery,
etc.,
setting
a
higher
value on the
private
family
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 307
with
poverty,
than on an association with
wealth,
will
not
prove insuperable,
remains to be determined.
But the Communities
aimed at a
higher
success in
securing
to all their members an
equal
and
thorough
education. And on the
whole,
one
may say,
that aims
so
generous,
and so forced on them
by
the
times,
will not
be
relinquished,
even if these
attempts
fail,
but will be
prosecuted
until
they
succeed.
This is the value of the Communities
;
not what
they
have
done,
but the revolution which
they
indicate as on
the
way.
Yes,
government
must educate the
poor
man.
Look across the
country
from
any
hillside around
us,
and
the
landscape
seems to crave
government.
The actual
^
differences of men must be
acknowledged,
and met with
love and wisdom. These
rising grounds
which command
the
champaign
below,
seem to ask for
lords,
true
lords,
land-lords,
who understand the land and its
uses,
and
the
applicabilities
of
men,
and whose
government
would
be what it
should,
namely,
mediation between want and
supply.
How
gladly
would each citizen
pay
a
commis-^
sion for the
support
and continuation of
good guidance.
None should be a
governor
who has not a talent for
governing.
Now
many people
have a native skill for
carving
out business for
many
hands
;
a
genius
for the
disposition
of affairs
;
and are never
happier
than when
difficult
practical questions,
which embarrass other
men,
are to be solved. All lies in
light
before them
;
they
are in their element. Could
any
means be contrived to
appoint only
these ! There
really
seems a
progress
to
wards such a state of
things,
in which this work shall be
done
by
these natural workmen
;
and
this,
not
certainly
308 THE YOUNG
AMERICAN.
through any
increased discretion shown
by
the
citizens
at
elections,
but
by
the
gradual
contempt
into which
official
government
falls,
and the
increasing disposition
of
private
adventurers to assume its fallen
functions. Tims
the national Post Office is
likely
to
go
into disuse before
the
private telegraph
and the
express companies.
The
currency
threatens to fall
entirely
into
private
hands.
Justice is
continually
administered more and more
by
private
reference,
and not
by litigation.
We have feu
dal
governments
in a commercial
age.
It would be but
an
easy
extension of our commercial
system,
to
pay
a
private emperor
a fee for
services,
as we
pay
an archi
tect,
an
engineer,
or a
lawyer.
If
any
man has a talent
for
righting wrong,
for
administering
difficult
affairs,
for
counselling poor
farmers how to turn their estates to
good husbandry,
for
combining
a hundred
private
enter
prises
to a
general
benefit,
let him in the
county-town,
or in Court
Street,
put up
his
sign-board,
Mr.
Smith,
Governor,
Mr.
Johnson,
Working king.
How can our
young
men
complain
of the
poverty
of
things
in New
England,
and not feel that
poverty
as a
demand on their
charity
to make New
England
rich ?
Where is he who
seeing
a thousand men useless and
unhappy,
and
making
the whole
region
forlorn
by
their
inaction,
and conscious himself of
possessing
the
faculty
they
want,
does not hear his call to
go
and be their
king?
We must have
kings,
and we must have nobles. Na
ture
provides
such in
every society, only
let us have
the real instead of the titular. Let us have our
leading
and our
inspiration
from the best. In
every society
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 309
some men are born to
rule,
and some to advise. Let
the
powers
be well
directed,
directed
by
love,
and
they
would
everywhere
be
greeted
with
joy
and honor. The
chief is the chief all the world
over,
only
not his
cap
and
his
plume.
It is
only
their dislike of the
pretender,
which makes men sometimes
unjust
to the
accomplished
man. If
society
were
transparent,
the noble would
every
where be
gladly
received and
accredited,
and would not
be asked for his
day
s
work,
but would be felt as
benefit,
inasmuch as he was noble. That were his
duty
and
stint,
to
keep
himself
pure
and
purifying,
the leaven of his
nation. I think I see
place
and duties for a nobleman
in
every society
;
but it is not to drink wine and ride in
a fine
coach,
but to
guide
and adorn life for the multi
tude
by forethought, by elegant
studies,
by perseverance,
self-devotion,
and the remembrance
of the humble old
friend,
by making
his life
secretly
beautiful.
I call
upon you, young
men,
to
obey your
heart,
and
be the
nobility
of this land. In
every age
of the
world,
there has been a
leading
nation,
one of a more
generous
sentiment,
whose eminent citizens were
willing
to stand
for the interests of
general justice
and
humanity,
at the
risk of
being
called,
by
the men of the
moment,
chimeri
cal and fantastic. Which should be that nation but
these.
States ? Which should lead that
movement,
if not New
England
? Who should lead the
leaders,
but the
Young
American ? The
people,
and the
world,
are now suffer
ing
from the want of
religion
and honor in its
public
mind. In
America,
out of doors all seems a market
;
in
doors,
an
air-tight
stove of conventionalism.
Everybody
who comes into our houses savors of these habits
;
the
310 THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
men,
of the market
;
the
women,
of the custom. I find
no
expression
in our state
papers
or
legislative
debate,
in
our
lyceums
or
churches,
especially
in our
newspapers,
of a
high
national
feeling,
no
lofty
counsels that
right
fully
stir the blood. I
speak
of those
organs
which can
oe
presumed
to
speak
a
popular
sense.
They
recom
mend conventional
virtues,
whatever will earn and
pre
serve
property
;
always
the
capitalist
;
the
college,
the
church,
the
hospital,
the
theatre,
the
hotel,
the
road,
the
ship,
of the
capitalist,
whatever
goes
to
secure,
adorn,
enlarge
these,
is
good
;
what
jeopardizes any
of
these is damnable. The
opposition papers,
so
called,
are on the same side.
They
attack the
great capitalist,
but with the aim to make a
capitalist
of the
poor
man.
The
opposition
is
against
those who have
money,
from
those who wish to have
money.
But who announces to
us in
journal
or in
pulpit,
or in the
street,
the secret
of
heroism,
"Man alone
Can
perform
the
impossible
"
?
I shall not need to
go
into an enumeration of our
national defects and vices which
require
this Order of
Censors in the state. I
might
not set down our most
proclaimed
offences as the worst. It is not often the
worst trait that occasions the loudest
outcry.
Men com
plain
of their
suffering,
and not of the crime. I fear little
from the bad effect of
Repudiation
;
I do not fear that it
will
spread. Stealing
is a suicidal business
;
you
cannot
repudiate
but once. But the bold face and
tardy repent
ance
permitted
to this local mischief reveal a
public
mind
so
preoccupied
with the love of
gain,
that the common
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 311
sentiment of
indignation
at fraud does not act with its
natural force. The more need of a withdrawal from the
crowd,
and a resort to the fountain of
right, by
the brave.
The
timidity
of our
public opinion,
is our
disease, or,
shall
I
say,
the
publicness
of
opinion,
the absence of
private
opinion.
Good-nature is
plentiful,
but we want
justice,
with heart of
steel,
to
fight
down the
proud.
The
pri
vate mind has access to the
totality
of
goodness
and
truth,
that it
may
be a balance to a
corrupt society
;
and
to stand for the
private
verdict
against popular clamor,
is the office of the noble. If a humane measure is
pro
pounded
in behalf of the
slave,
or of the
Irishman,
or the
Catholic,
or for the succor of the
poor,
that
sentiment,
that
project,
will have the
homage
of the hero. That is
his
nobility,
his oath of
knighthood,
to succor the
help
less and
oppressed
;
always
to throw himself on the side
of
weakness,
of
youth,
of
hope
;
on the
liberal,
on the
expansive
side,
never on the
defensive,
the
conserving,
the
timorous,
the lock and bolt
system.
More than our )
good-
will we
may
not be able to
give.
We have our own
affairs,
our own
genius,
which chains each to his
proper
work. "We cannot
give
our life to the cause of the
debtor,
of the
slave,
or the
pauper,
as another is
doing
;
but to one
thing
we are
bound,
not to
blaspheme
the sen-
^
timent and the work of that
man,
not to throw
stumbling-
blocks in the
way
of the
abolitionist,
the
philanthropist,
as the
organs
of influence and
opinion
are swift to
doj
It is for us to confide in the beneficent
Supreme
Power,
and not to
rely
on our
money,
and on the state because
it is the
guard
of
money.
At this
moment,
the terror
of old
people
and of
vicious
people
is,
lest the Union of
THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
these States be
destroyed
: as if the Union had
any
other
real basis than the
good pleasure
of a
majority
of the cit
izens to be united. But the wise and
just
man will al
ways
feel that he stands on his own feet
;
that he
imparts
strength
to the
state,
not receives
security
from it
;
and
that if all went
down,
he and such as he would
quite
easily
combine in a new and better constitution.
Every
great
and memorable
community
has consisted of formi
dable
individuals,
each of
whom,
like the Roman or the
Spartan,
lent his own
spirit
to the state and made it
great.
Yet
only by
the
supernatural
is a man
strong
;
nothing
is so weak as an
egotist. Nothing
is
mightier
than
we,
when we are vehicles of a
truth,
before which
the state and the individual are alike
ephemeral.
Gentlemen,
the
development
of our American internal
resources,
the extension to the utmost of the commercial
system,
and the
appearance
of new moral causes which
are to
modify
the
state,
are
giving
an
aspect
of
great
ness to the
Future,
which the
imagination
fears to
open.
One
thing
is
plain
for all men of common-sense and
common
conscience,
that
here,
here in
America,
is the
home of man. After all the deductions which are to be
made for our
pitiful politics,
which stake
every gravest
national
question
on the
silly
die,
whether James or
whether Robert shall sit in the chair and hold the
purse
;
after all the deduction is made for our frivolities and
insanities,
there still remains an
organic simplicity
and
liberty,
which,
when it loses its
balance,
redresses itself
presently,
which offers
opportunity
to the human mind
not known in
any
other
region.
It is
true,
the
public
mind wants
self-respect.
We
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 313
are full of
vanity,
of which the most
signal proof
is our
sensitiveness to
foreign
and
especially English
censure.
One cause
of this is our immense
reading,
and that read
ing chiefly
confined to the
productions
of the
English
press.
It is also
true, that,
to
imaginative persons
in
this
country,
there is somewhat bare and bald in our
short
history,
and unsettled wilderness.
They
ask,
who
would live in a new
country,
that can live in an old ?
and it is not
strange
that our
youths
and maidens should
burn to see the
picturesque
extremes of an
antiquated
country.
But it is one
thing
to visit the
pyramids
and
another to wish to live there. Would
they
like tithes to
the
clergy,
and sevenths to the
government,
and horse-
guards,
and licensed
press,
and
grief
when a child is
born,
and
threatening,
starved
weavers,
and a
pauperism
now
constituting
one thirteenth of the
population
? In
stead of the
open
future
expanding
here before the
eye
of
every boy
to
vastness,
would
they
like the
closing
in
of the future to a narrow slit of
sky,
and that fast con
tracting
to be no future ? One
thing,
for
instance,
the
beauties of
aristocracy,
we commend to the
study
of
the
travelling
American. The
English,
the most con
servative
people
this side of
India,
are not sensible of
the
restraint,
but an American would
seriously
resent it.
The
aristocracy, incorporated by
law and
education,
de
grades
life for the
unprivileged
classes. It is a
question
able
compensation
to the embittered
feeling
of a
proud
commoner,
the reflection that a
fop,
who,
by
the
magic
of
title,
paralyzes
his
arm,
and
plucks
from him half the
graces
and
rights
of a
man,
is himself also an
aspirant
excluded with the same ruthlessness from
higher
circles,
14
314
THE YOUNG AMERICAN.
since there is no end to the wheels within wheels of this
spiral
heaven.
Something may
be
pardoned
to the
spirit
of
loyalty
when it becomes fantastic
;
and some
thing
to the
imagination,
for the baldest life is
symbolic.
Philip
II. of
Spain
rated his ambassador for
neglecting
serious affairs in
Italy,
whilst he debated some
point
of
honor with the French ambassador: "You have left a
business
of
importance
for a
ceremony."
The ambassador
replied
:
"
Your
Majesty
s self is but a
ceremony."
In
the
East,
where the
religious
sentiment comes in to the
support
of the
aristocracy,
and in the Romish Church
also,
there is a
grain
of sweetness in the
tyranny
;
but in
Eng
land,
the fact seems to me
intolerable,
what is
commonly
affirmed,
that such is the transcendent honor accorded
to wealth and
birth,
that no man of
letters,
be his emi
nence what it
may,
is received into the best
society,
except
as a lion and a show. The
English
have
many
virtues,
many advantages,
and the
proudest history
of
the
world;
but
they
need
all,
and more than all the
resources of the
past
to
indemnify
a heroic
gentleman
in
that
country
for the mortifications
prepared
for him
by
the
system
of
society,
and which seem to
impose
the
alternative to resist or to avoid it. That there are miti
gations
and
practical
alleviations to this
rigor
is not an
excuse for the rule.
Commanding
worth,
and
personal
power,
must sit crowned in all
companies,
nor will ex-
traordinary persons
be
slighted
or affronted in
any
com
pany
of civilized men. But the
system
is an invasion
of the sentiment of
justice
and the native
rights
of
men,
which,
however
decorated,
must lessen the value of
Eng
lish
citizenship.
It is for
Englishmen
to
consider,
not
THE YOUNG AMERICAN. 315
for us
;
we
only say,
let us live in
America,
too thankful
for our want of feudal institutions. Our houses and
towns are like mosses and
lichens,
so
slight
and
new;
but
youth
is a fault of which we shall
daily
mend. This
land, too,
is as old as the
Flood,
and wants no ornament
or
privilege
which nature could bestow. Here
stars,
here
woods,
here
hills,
here
animals,
here men
abound,
and the vast tendencies concur of a new order. If
only
the men are
employed
in
conspiring
with the
designs
of
the
Spirit
who led us
hither,
and is
leading
us
still,
we
shall
quickly enough
advance out of all
hearing
of oth
ers
censures,
out of all
regrets
of our
own,
into a new
and more excellent social state than
history
has recorded.
THE END.
U. C. BERKELEY
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